


Cigarettes and Coffee

by ExpectoPadoughnut



Category: Impractical Jokers
Genre: Lemons Will Make An Appearance, M/M, Rating May Change, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-15 13:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8058937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExpectoPadoughnut/pseuds/ExpectoPadoughnut
Summary: Sal has an anxiety attack that unearths his daemons from the past and the burning question he had buried for years: do I love my best friend?   [ COMPLETE ]





	1. Cigarettes Are Expensive

_I don’t smoke._

That’s what Sal thought. That’s what he thought until out of the blue, a mere evening ago, he had an anxiety attack in public. And it was the scariest fuckin’ feeling ever.  


In that ten minute mind frame he had convinced himself that the entire street was out to get him, so much so that he stood in an alley way to breath for a while. There was something oddly satisfying about hyperventilating against a slimy back street wall and he realised that it came down to self-loathing and thoughts of how he deserved nothing other than a dirty street. 

Sal quickly left that alley. 

Somewhere between paranoia, irritation and the insatiable need to breath, he had acquired a packet of cigarettes. Who knew they were so fucking expensive? Funnily enough he forgot to buy a lighter but the mere feel of the little blue box nestled in his back pocket was an instant relief. 

After buying a lighter – a pack of 6 for a dollar fifty – he found the nearest exit. The picture on the box wasn’t too gruesome when he checked: a dead body seemed a step backwards from the usual cancer ridden lungs they showed. 

Bringing the cigarette to his lips brought forth its own bought of stress. _I haven’t done this in a while._ Do I use my teeth or lips to balance the fag? The flame on the lighter was higher than expected. How many puffs before it actually lights? _I’m choking on the smoke._

And then he walked for ten minutes, instantly soothed by the rush of nicotine. It takes ten seconds for nicotine to reach your brain and not long after for carbon monoxide levels to rise in your lungs. And when he’d smoked three, puffing those cancer sticks like his life depended on it, reality clicked and he regretted wasting eleven bucks on 20 cylinder rolls of rat poison, tar, ammonia and 3, 997 other chemicals.

But he didn’t throw them away. Instead, he tucked them into the hidden pocket of his backpack and hid that under the bunk on their shared bus.


	2. He's in Good Form

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back if you've made a previous appearance. Hello if you're new. No, I'm not Adele.

“I’m fuckin’ ecstatic right now, man,” Q beamed, bouncing on the balls of his feet and peering around the empty venue. “Look at all those seats. And they’ll all be full tonight!” He turned to Murr with a broad smile and clapped the smaller man’s shoulder. 

“We did it,” agreed Murr, clapping a hand on Q’s. “Who knew meeting all those years ago would lead to this?”

“Who knew it’d lead to _that?_ ” Q smirked, nodding over at Joe who lingered around the foods table, plucking pastries without restraint.

They chuckled together, nudging each other fondly and generally ripping into one other. It was in good spirit; it always was and it took the tension out of being cooped up together for 3 weeks on the bus. They’d had arguments of course, but they were more like married couple tiffs over wearing shoes, smelly socks, farts and who left the cap off the milk?

It had been fun and now they were wrapping it up in Indianapolis, and Q had only one concern – Sal. The youngest joker had been quiet since their Vegas show, understandably exhausted or so Q thought, until he had heard Sal crying in his sleep and now he was just dead fuckin’ worried about his best friend. 

“Everything okay, buddy?” he called across the stage to where Sal was reading through some of their skits. Q knew this was a bullshit attempt for Sal to not have to talk to any of them; Sal knew those skits like the back of his hand. 

“Yeah, just practicing,” Sal called back, not taking his eyes from the papers and turning without hesitation to walk off the stage. 

Q scowled and vowed there and then to confront Sal if he didn’t perk up during the after party they were hosting in the hotel. Maybe that’s what he needs, thought Q, to burn off steam and get drunk. Being off the bus at last would do them all wonders, he decided, perking up himself and following Murr to the buffet before Joe had demolished it entirely.  


The final show was a sensation and Q knew there and then, standing on the edge of the stage with Murr to his left, Joe to his right and Sal on Joe’s side, that there was something very wrong with his best friend, whose eyes had deadpanned the entire night. 

*****

“I’m worried about Sal,” he blurted to Joe over a slice of cake that night. They had bustled to the edge of the busy bar nearest an open window to breath. The cake was good, the drink was a flow, everyone was merry if not drunk and Sal was hanging around near the exit with a member of crew whom Q knew _for fact _was trying to flirt with him. _Didn’t they know better by now?___

__“What’re you worried ‘bout?” said Joe through a mouthful. “He’s havin’ a ball, see.”_ _

__Their eyes locked on the exit and Q blanched. The member of crew, he had no idea what her name was, had her hands around Sal’s neck and his mouth was savaging hers. _What the-__ _

__“See? He’s in good form,” grinned Joe, chucking his paper plate to one side. “Hey, wouldn’t it be funny if we left a pile of condoms on his pillow. Desperation always look’s good on Sal.”_ _

__Q chuckled, eyes glistening over. “Nah, leave him. He needs this. I’ve been worried about him man, all these weeks while we were touring. He just seemed so far away.”_ _

__“We’ve all been far away,” said Joe, cracking a can of diet coke and handing Q a bottle of Bud from an ice bucket. “It’s been long; fun but long and everyone jus’ wants to go home, y’know. I miss Bessy man and I miss Milana so much. Y’know those lazy mornings in sweats when all you do is binge watch tv – I miss them.”_ _

__Q nodded and sipped the Bud. It wasn’t his choice of poison but he couldn’t taste it much anyway because his stomach was bothering him. _Stupid cake._ “I miss my cats,” he stated with a longing smile. “Benjamin tore the shower curtain again.”_ _

__“Are you ever gonna install a glass door, man? That cat’s settin’ you back dollars.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Doughnuts to the left, always.


	3. We're Assigned Seats for a Reason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some plot. I hope you enjoy it.

It wasn’t worth it. It never was. The room had spun for a good half hour every time he tried to get out of bed and the filthy smell of sex lingered heavily in the air. His bed was empty though, thank fuck for that he thought, because people were going to fuckin’ freak out when they found out a crew member had made their way between his sheets. Vulcano didn’t kiss and tell; he hoped that Jess didn’t either. _Was that her name?_

The clock read 10. Breakfast was well and truly over and they had to be out of the hotel by noon. He sighed heavily and refused to give in to the tween side of him that wanted to cry with frustration. The sheets were sweaty; he smelled and wanted orange juice but resigned to packing with a hangover and the general stress of everyone finding out he fucked the crew.

Honestly, Sal didn’t know why it had happened. He regretted every inch his cock had discovered and wanted to take it all back. He didn’t like Jess, he didn’t like the sex and he didn’t even like girls… sometimes, most of the time. _God, here we go again._ He bunched a pair of jeans into a ball and battered them into his suitcase, roughly closing it and tossing it to the floor with an angry grumble of _‘fuck this shit’_ and ‘no _t going there again’._

 _“Fuck,_ ” he spat, perching on the end of the bed and resting his head in his palms. He couldn’t do this again, he couldn’t go there again. The last time had almost killed him. It was a vivid memory that never faded with time because time couldn’t heal some fuckin’ wounds and he knew it too well.

_Cold. He hadn’t expected that. Two pills had always warmed his insides, so why did 6 make him feel so damn cold? Maybe it was the kitchen tiles, maybe it was the open window or maybe he should have worn a sweater. He just wanted to fuckin’ sleep, that’s all. Why was it all so complicated? Why couldn’t he just close his eyes and sleep, just sleep._

“Good morning, _ah_ , not sunshine I see,” Joe screeched from the window of the minivan hired to bring them to the airport. Sal glowered at him through shaded eyes, thankful he hadn’t forgotten to buy sunglasses, and clambered into the van in front of Gatto.

“Shut up,” he grunted, buckling up and staring ahead, adamant he was not going to vomit. “Where’s Murr?” The absence of Murray was always daunting because the ferret usually got himself into mischief while unattended.

“He’s gone on ahead with the crew and the bags,” said Joe, peering at him through a raised eyebrow. Sal knew that look; knew Joe was waiting for him to start talking about last night, knew that Joe knew that he knew. _Sigh._ “With y’know, our crew.”

“I’m not talking about it,” he said staring hard ahead. He could feel eyes on the back of his head but ignored them, though he couldn’t shake the paranoia acquainted with it. He spent a lot of his time paranoid lately, it was a reoccurring feeling he was finding more difficult to shake as the weeks went by.

While they drove to the airport, Joe and Q chatting lightly about what they’d do once they got home, Sal was only grateful for the excuse of a hangover. Buildings whipped by as did his thoughts and he reflected briefly on how he’d found himself in this mind frame. It had come from nowhere, a slow impending feeling in the pit of his stomach that he had thought weeks before was a bug, then passed it off as dietary needs and finally accepted that it was a foreboding. An anxiety that he was all too familiar with, back in the day when they were young and wild and free; back when being anxious was a result of money problems, prescription pills and the occasional existential crisis mixed in with the biggest question of all: _am I gay?_

* * * *

The plane ride was uncomfortable. Q persuaded Murr to swap seats after a lengthy argument on the importance of remaining in your designated spot.

“We’re given assigned seats for a reason, man,” Murr hissed, squeezing into the tiny aisle and glancing around the plane. “To identify _bodies_ if something happens.”

“I will throw myself off this plane if I have to listen to that kid anymore,” snapped Q, squeezing past Murr and into his new seat, comfortably stretching with a grin. “Good choice, buddy.”

Murr narrowed his eyes and leaned into Q’s face. “If this fucking plane goes down and they mistake my body for yours, I will come back and haunt you, Quinn.”

Q waved him away and settled into the seat; glancing back to make sure Murr had gone before he peered up the plane to the familiar man two rows up. It wasn’t just the kid that had made him move, though the brat played a huge part in the matter; Q wanted to move closer to Sal, to keep an eye, to hopefully prove that he was just being paranoid and that Joe was right – that Sal was fine. _You heard him cry._ Maybe it was a cold, his mind tried to rationalise.

_It hadn’t exactly woken him but the sniffling had definitely roused him. It was the sharp intake of breath and the sound of Sal’s voice uttering profanities that brought him to wakefulness, and he had almost pulled the curtain on his bunk open to investigate until he heard a sob. “What?” he whispered to himself, sitting up slightly to hear well, but the sound had stopped and Sal’s familiar breaths became consistent._

Sal’s hair was unruly right now and stuck up in tufts over the head of the chair. Out of the four of them, Sal had the most presentable hair; purely because he had fuckin’ hair. Murr’s was as good as gone, save for the monk’s outline he’d get when it grew out for too many weeks. Joe was in denial and settled for a greasy comb over and Q was too lazy to get his hair cut - that was the truth. He smiled fondly.

There was always something so casual about Sal, the way he just illuminated every room effortlessly no matter where they went. He was the most sought after of the jokers; Q knew this and the image of Sal kissing that girl appeared in his mind’s eye. Without knowing, his top lip recoiled and before he could register the annoyance at the memory, the plane jerked awkwardly. He turned in his seat to grin at Murray, jokingly blessing himself and giving the man thumbs up. Murr mouthed a ‘fuck you’.

*** * * ***

Suitcases abandoned in the hall and a makeshift meal of apple slices, peanut butter and turkey sandwiches later, Q fell onto his bed with the three cats. Oh, the bliss! There was something to be said for the feel of cosy sheets against his aching body and the loving purr from Benjamin against his chest.

“Daddy missed you guys,” he cooed, brushing Chessie’s tail and kissing Brooklyn’s nose. Sal would hate that. Why was he thinking of Sal? They had left with brief words, that was the norm after long tours; everyone was too tired to pretend they’d miss each other for the coming few days. Of course they’d miss each other to an extent, but each of them was in need of alone time and everyone was a mere text away, if not a short drive. Sal was the closest –

“Stop thinking about Sal,” he said to the ceiling.

He had no _reason_ to think about Sal, right? His suspicions were based solely on a few cranky days his friend had had. Sure, he might have cried in his sleep or he might had had a cold, or just fuckin’ sneezed or had a nightmare. Sal couldn’t have been too down in the dumps if he’d managed to bone some chick. Yeah, he was fine. _I'm being irrational. Still though - that hair._

Q frowned.


	4. Spider Dick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sick - cough cough - and it fuckin' _sucks_. It also hurts because my tonsils are raw and I've a sinus headache and all I wanna do is eat ice cream and watch The Walking Dead. 
> 
> Anyway, here's some more plot thickening for you.

The downtime was fun for the first few days while he was jet lagged and didn’t have to be around other people, but when he woke fitfully for the third time with thoughts of dark eyes and aged regrets burned into his mind, Sal realised that no amount of distance was going to make the pain go away. It was an endless headache that physically drained him; every second rotated around that one burning desire and he hated himself for every filthy thought that crossed his mind. 

It didn’t take long for the positivity to leave his heart because his heart hurt. He knew what he wanted but it wasn’t realistic, it wasn’t going to happen and he knew that one foot in the wrong direction would ruin everything: their friendship, their careers, their lives,  _him_.

 “I can’t take it anymore,” he whimpered to himself, palming his eyes and staring at the carpet. This was old news; this was all finished with _years_ ago, so why was the past crawling back into his life? He growled and strode to the toilet, flinging the door open and stared at his reflection.  A faint blue hue ringed his lids, startling against the red rings he had cried last night. The eyes were the window to the soul, that’s what his mother had always said. His soul was hurt, bruised and raw and he didn’t know how to fix it. 

_Yes you do._

Of course he knew. He was exhausted, he just wanted to sleep. If he couldn’t tell anyone then he wanted to bury it, again. _Tell Joe._ He scowled at his reflection, hating the rational part of him that was screaming to get help _right now_ and knowing that help would mean saying it out loud- and saying it out loud would ruin everything. 

His shaky breathe fogged the mirror as he leaned closer to peer into his own eyes, willing the tears to go away and leave him alone. He couldn’t deal with this again; those daemons almost broke him last time. _I can’t do this again._ With a shaking finger he drew a pattern in the foggy mirror and pressed his forehead to the cool glass – **Q**. 

*** * * ***

Coffee shops weren’t his usual haunt, he was always too paranoid to sit alone and now more so than ever. Every hushed conversation pounded his eardrums and he found suspicion in words that had nothing to do with him. His fingers drummed anxiously against the take away cup he had been nestling for 10 minutes and it was slowly cooling beneath his grasp. His lips had touched the rim 2 and half times precisely. Twice he took weak sips of the strong coffee that he hated the taste of and once he felt a dribble of liquid touch his lips, before he quickly pulled the cup away when Joe appeared in the shop. 

“Don’t judge me,” said Joe coming back to the table with a large cinnamon bun. “They were just outta the oven.”

Sal grinned faintly. It smelled like Christmas at their tiny table and that warmed him enough to take a proper sip of coffee without gagging. 

"So what’re we here for? I thought coffee shops freaked ya out?” Joe added, cutting into the warm bun. 

“It’s a long story,” said Sal, staring at the table. He was probably here out of delirium; if not then it was pure exhaustion and when he looked into Joe’s puzzled blue eyes, his own green orbs were heavy with memory. “Remember how we used play spin the bottle in your basement?”

_\- 1992 -_

_“That was gross, man,” squealed Murr, hiding behind his hands as Joe sauntered back to the group._

_“You creep,” said Sal, edging away from him._

_Joe shrugged and sipped his juice. “I could be the next Spider Man,” he smirked, shooting imaginary webs in Sal’s face and chuckling when he cringed away._

_“Or spider dick,” laughed Q, throwing himself across the carpet to land on Joe’s hip. “I shoot white webs from_ other places _.”_

_“You’re sick,” Sal dead panned over his friend’s laughter. “Sick.”_

_Q pushed himself off Joe to lean back with a stretch. “Not up your alley, Sally?” he grinned, shoving the bottle in Murr’s direction. “Your turn dork.”_

_Murr spun the bottle and it settled on Sal’s form. He smirked evilly and rubbed his hands together. “Ok Vulcano – truth or dare.”_

_Sal groaned, eyeing the green bottle and cursing it to high heavens. He was tempted to choose truth –_ that way they can’t make me put my dick in cobwebs _– but there were a lot of things a 16-year-old kept secret. Like the fact that after Murr was made confess he was intimate with a stuffed animal, Sal blushed because so had he. Yeah, dare was definitely the way to go. He could always disinfect his dick if they did make him put it in spider webs._

 _“Dare,” he gulped, flinching away from Murr’s eccentric hand clap. The blunt demand made him freeze._ Must have heard his big mouth wrong. _“Say that again?”_

 _“Kiss Q._ ”

Joe poised his fork mid lift and held up a hand to silence Sal. “You called me down here to remind me I stuck my dick inta a spider’s web when I was 16?”

Sal threw his eyes to heaven. “No, obviously I didn’t.” He chewed his lip and glanced across the coffee shop, suddenly worried someone might have heard him. It was definitely delirium that had him sitting in front of Joe like this, because now that he was on high alert, he regretted ever opening his mouth.

“Dude, wassa matter?” asked Joe, putting his fork down and pushing the plate to one side. The jittery twitches on his best friend’s face sent him into alert mode and for the first time, he observed Sal intently. The Joker’s hair was untamed and his beard had grown ragged; Joe knew for fact that Sal hated long beards. The usual bright eyes had dimmed considerably and shadows lurked beneath his lids. Joe shook his head. Q’s words echoed in his mind: _I’m worried about Sal_. “Don’t make me hold your hand, Sal. What’s going on?”

Sal automatically removed his hands from the table. _God, please don’t_. People were probably taking notice already, he didn’t need anymore. The cafe closed in around him; the scent of roasted coffee beans lingered in his nose for too long and sent an irritating pulse through his skull that resounded uncomfortably behind his eyes.  Was it really that warm? His jumper itched awfully against his neck and he pulled at the hem, huffing loudly. Joe’s mouth moved but no sound came with it and a haze blurred his peripheral vision.

They were in an alley when the pounding sensation slowed enough for Joe’s voice to make sense again. “Yeah, he’s comin’ round now, man. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Joe?” croaked Sal, resting his head against the cool wall. Ah, that felt good. 

“I’ll call you back, Q.” Joe pocketed the phone and bent down to meet Sal’s eye. “You had a panic attack, Sal. I thought you were gonna’ die, man.”

He groaned and closed his eyes. _Typical._  This couldn’t carry on; he couldn’t continue to have attacks because of this… _this situation._  It was quick, the stream of thoughts that came and went in a second: how will Joe react? He won’t freak, not Joe. Q will; he’ll lose the plot and that’ll be the end. What about the show? Am I ruining everything? I gotta’ tell Joe. 

“I think I’m in love,” he blurted, covering his face in his palms to block the gleam in Joe’s eyes because he didn’t want to see the smile crumble when he said “With Q.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything I own in a box to the left.I don't own anything except doughnuts. These ones are glazed though... I ate the chocolate ones.


	5. The Q's and Con

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your support with this story guys. It means a lot to know that there are people who want to read this and people who appreciate it. I also know that there are people who've read this and can relate to these emotions. I suffer everyday with anxiety and this situations I write about in this story are all very close to home; minus me being a gay comedian who might be in love with my best friend. You know what I mean though, so thanks.

“I aint gonna lie to you buddy – Q is a cranky bastard,” said Joe, waving an agitated motorist away and continuing down the street. His initial reaction to Sal’s confession had been to blow it off as a joke, until the man had teared up and begged Joe in a small voice to _‘Please, just listen’._ He still found it difficult to comprehend; how does someone hide something like this for 24 years? _24 years._ “Firstly, he’s like the bible,” Joe continued, raising one finger. “Big and controversial and so is this situation. I mean, what if he says no?”

Sal twitched. “What d’you mean _‘if he says no’_? I’m not telling him.”

Joe scoffed and shook his head. “Sal, you can’t keep this from him. Not if you’re like-” he flicked his hand over Sal’s hunched figure. “Not if you’re like _this_ , dude. It looks like you haven’t slept in days. Have you seen your _hair_?”

“I’m giving it a break from gel, man, shut up,” he defended feebly, cracking a genuine smile despite the empty pit in his stomach. Joe always made things better. “And I can’t tell him because it’ll ruin everything we’ve worked for.” Joe turned the car into Sal’s road and stopped a few spots away from his friend’s house. With the engine cut, a deafening silence enveloped them both and Sal immediately seized up, shrinking away from Joe. “Q’s isn’t like that. He’s not… he’s not like me,” he said in a small voice. 

“You can’t even say it, can you?” frowned Joe, pulling the keys out and turning in his seat to face Sal. “You can’t admit who you are.”

Sal flinched. “Joe, come on man,” he pleaded. “It’s hard. I don’t know where to begin.”

Joe sighed and reached a hand across the car to catch Sal’s. “You’re my best friend,” he declared, staring hard at Sal’s miserable face. “You, Murr and Q. You guys are all I’ve ever had an’ you’re all I ever want. Do I care that you’re gay – yes, Sal, I just said it – and my answer is a big fat fuckin’ _no_. You’re still my Latino Marshmallow and just ‘cause you’ve got feelin’s for that pitbull we hang around with doesn’t mean that’ll change. You’re still _you_ ,” Joe said firmly, jabbing him in the shoulder with a finger. “You’re still Sal.”

It took a second for the burn in Sal’s eyes to reside before he was able to take a shaky breath. There was so much more to be said, so much more he _needed_ to get off his chest. The first time Q and he kissed was over a game of spin the bottle and Joe had shrugged it off - _‘So what man, it was a dare.’_ – Until Sal had told him of the way his heart fluttered when their lips met and how he didn’t stop thinking about it for weeks after that. How every time he met Q’s eyes, his cheeks would flush because of the thoughts he had had. They were 16 and it was a dare, but for Sal it was just the beginning of an illicit affair of secrets. 

Joe shook his head and Sal looked up. “Hey, like I said to you already, I don’t care how many times you kissed Q after that game; in fact I’m fuckin’ happy you two had a good time. I’m pissed off it ended for you man, I’m sorry it didn’t work out. But you gotta stop beatin’ yourself up about this.”

“I dunno what to do,” admitted Sal, letting Joe squeeze his hand. It was nice to feel something other than his fists against his pillow for a change. It was nice to feel another human. “I don’t even _know_ if I’m gay. What if I’m just crushin’ on him?”

“For over 20 years?” Joe said, his arched brows sceptically rising to the clouds. “I don’t think so. You like him and you’ve repressed it and shit. Made yourself feel like shit and all that over the years and now it’s comin’ back to bite you in the balls.”

“Q fucks girls,” Sal deadpanned, playing with the zipper on his hoody to distract the burn in his eyes. 

Joe laughed and sighed. “How was Jess in bed? I hear you fuck ‘um too.”

“It meant nothing. She came onto me,” he snapped in defence, frowning up at Joe. “Whose side are you fuckin’ on man?”

“Yours, you jerk,” he insisted, smiling softly and he nudged Sal’s shoulder. “You sleep with women and you’ve had girls over the years and so has Q, man. I mean he was almost _married_ one time, Sal – which if you ask me was destined to fail but that’s for another day – but my point is that both of ye repressed this shit.” Joe held a hand in the air in a ‘this is so obvious’ manner before subjecting himself to a disgruntled sigh. “You know what, here’s what we’ll do. Get out of the car,” he ordered, unbuckling Sal’s belt. 

“Joe, what’re y-” He opened the passenger door and stuck a leg out, nervously glancing around his empty street. 

Joe shoved him from the car and leaned across the now empty seat. “Go home and make a list,” he said, grinning widely. “Pros and Cons of dating Q. I’ll be round in a few hours for pizza; we’ll watch movies, braid each other’s vaginas and paint nails. Y’know, white chick shit.”

 

****

** * * * ***

_"Ask any racer. Any real racer. It don't matter if you win by an inch or a mile. Winning's winning."_

Sal turned off the T.V and dropped the remote beside their mess: pizza box, empty soda cans, garlic balls ( _“I don’t want to know what garlic balls taste like, thank you,” grimaced Sal, pushing the carton back to Joe._ ) He felt better; better enough to fill in the empty pit with some calories and carbs and that always made him feel better. It so happened that just as Joe arrived, Sal’s phone beeped once and Q’s name flashed – a text message. 

“S’Q,” he murmured, staring at the simple message. **Sender: Q. Message: No crust.** Sal smiled despite himself, his insides turning uncomfortably and made so more awkward by Joe’s hand trying to grab the phone away. 

“What does it say?” Joe demanded, leaning across the pile of trash. “No crust? What the hell does that mean?”

Sal pocketed the phone without replying. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, shaking his head. He should reply, he knew that and he knew he was drawing the next award confrontation out. This is what he did, every damn time and he hated himself for it. What was he supposed to say to Q? _Hey Q, just sitting on a list of reasons I want to date you and why it might be a bad idea; also, I’ve been after your lips the last 20 or so years - memories, right?_ And that was his exact answer when Joe asked if he had replied or not. 

“How did you guys end up kissing after that game? How did Murr and I never find out?” asked Joe, bagging the rubbish and stretching across one end of the couch, knowing Sal was itching to ask if he had worn fresh socks or not. 

“You almost found out one time, senior year,” admitted Sal, lying on his back to stare at the ceiling. He could feel Joe’s feet touch his own as they both straightened out and Sal suddenly felt like he was in therapy. _It’s cheaper at least._ “Remember my 17th birthday party?”

**1993**

_It was cold, he decided, rubbing his arms fiercely in the hopes he might create some heat between palm and fabric – failure. His lips were dry and his nose was blocked and he fucking hated parties right now. Really though he was happy to have his friends come round and eat cake, if it was only a little damn warmer._

_“Happy birthday, Vulcano,” said a voice behind him. Sal’s stomach fluttered and he took a second to calm himself before smoothly turning to face Q. Shit on a stick. He looked so simple but so handsome; denims shredded on one knee from playing soccer on gravel, a simple black sweater and his hat turned backwards with tufts of hair poking out at the sides. Fuck. He was handsome, simple. “Cold?”_

_Sal contained the profanities he wanted to utter. He’d been jerking around like an idiot in the cold while Q watched with a grin. “Freezin’,” he said with a well contained smile. “How was soccer practice?”_

_His hands were shoved deep in his pockets and he raised a leg, grinning widely. “Robbie Deane pushed me over,” he said, pulling a dramatic pout. “So I punctured his balls with my knee.” His grin was infectious, it always was, and Sal couldn’t help close the gap between them and pretend to pat his knee._

_“Poor thing,” he cooed. “Let mama kiss it better.” He bent to kiss the top of Q’s jeans and they both laughed, straightening up and smirking at one another. Q’s eyes lit up and Sal couldn’t resist closing the gap between them. They were an inch apart and his best friend's pearly whites were all he could focus on._

_“You got dry lips,” Q commented, eyeing Sal’s mouth with a nod. Sal instinctively touched his bottom lip and frowned; he hated dry lips. “Lemmie give you somethin’” said Q, reaching into his pocket and producing a tin of Vaseline._

_Ah, it was heaven for Sal, lathering his cracked lips with the oil and even more so knowing that Q’s lips had touched the same product. He couldn’t remember precisely how Q’s lips felt, whether they were cold or warm, soft or rough, strong or weak, but he remembered one thing in particular - the butterflies in the pit of his stomach just before they connected._

_And that was what he felt when Q’s lips touched his, strong and determined, yet gentle and still. Sal couldn’t help but allow his eyes close against the touch, barely registering the fact they could be disturbed at any moment by the house full of guests. It was what he imagined Shakespeare was trying to describe, complete and utter bliss in the simplest touches. Unsure whether his treacherous body would betray him and react, he pulled back and waited until Q smiled before he followed suit._

_A rustling behind Q made them both jump and from the back door ran James with a pizza box, closely followed by Joe. Sal felt an instant lurch in his chest, a blinding panic they might have been seen; but James opened the box and stuck a candle into the center of the pizza. “Happy birthday brother,” they chorused._

If Joe were more in touch with his sensitive side, Sal was sure he would be crying right now but instead his eyes were lightly glistened and he beamed uncontrollably.

“Happy birthday indeed,” said Joe, scratching the back of his head while eyeing Sal with a curious look. “Dude, I think Q kinda’ instigated that one. Look, I dunno what’ll come of you telling him anything but how about we look at the Q’s and Cons.” He chuckled at his own joke and stretched on the couch. “Get it?”

Sal rolled his eyes and pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his back pocket. It wasn’t the original; he had used three practice sheets, scribbling every word out time and time again until he finally settled on something somewhat legible. “OK, I thought about it carefully and here’s what I came up with,” he announced, unfolding the wrinkled sheet and turning to Joe. “Cons: Q’s isn’t gay, he’s my best friend, if we break up it’ll ruin everything, what’ll people think when they find out, I’m an idiot for even writing this list-”

Joe held up a hand. “Did you actually write that you’re an idiot?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Sal cleared his throat and shook the sheet. “Yes and as I was saying, I’m an idiot for writing this shitty list, Q doesn’t date idiots, he thinks I’m straight, he would think this list is idiotic too-”

Again, Joe shushed Sal. “And why would Q think you’re an idiot for writing this list?” He put a finger over Sal’s mouth and answered for him. “It’s because Q would tell you to grow balls and approach him, the end.” 

Sal crumpled the sheet again. “There is no _‘the end’_ ,” he mimicked, scowling heavily. “Don’t cha think if Q had an feelin’s for me that he’da told me _years_ ago?”

“The same way you told him?” said Joe, looking terribly satisfied with his efforts. 

Sal groaned but couldn’t stop the half smile on his face. Sure, Joe was right and Sal would admit that if it weren’t for the fact that the situation was just too _different._ This wasn’t some girl he had a crush on and wanted to get into her knickers; but if Q wore knickers underneath his pants it might be easier to approach the whole different lifestyle conversation. He was fucked, he knew that, but he couldn’t help thinking about Q as more than a friend. It wasn’t just a crush, he knew this, had known this for years. He just had no fuckin’ clue how to go about it. 

Joe interrupted his brooding. “I’ve come up with some pros – or should I say Q’s – if you’re interested in hearin’ um.” He held out a fist and lifted one finger without waiting for Sal’s reply. “A – He’s your best friend and you know him better than any of us; you know exactly how to approach him. Two – tell him and you’ll know how he feels; only then you can stop torturing yourself with these dumb thoughts. Trois – you could get a boyfriend outta this; someone to show you how much your loved without having to use your hand. Last but certainly not least, you deserve happiness, Sal.”

  
*** * * ***

 

“I _musta_ done something.” Q paced the length of Murr’s kitchen, back and forth with a tumbler of whiskey and a pain in his head. He had text Sal – no reply – and it was a fast and the furious reference too! That was their favourite movie to watch together; Sal always text back and that was what he told Murr, but he just didn’t fuckin’ get it. 

“I dunno what tuna has to do with Sal hating you,” said Murr, pouring himself another scotch and browsing the Chinese menu. He had been about to go work out when Q called around, refusing to leave without a sip of the heavy stuff and now they were two hours into a long winded discussion he didn’t understand.

“It’s complicated,” Q tutted, getting thoroughly fed up with Murray now. _He just doesn't fuckin’ get it._ “You text him and see what he says,” he added aggressively, holding out his mobile.

“I’m not texting him,” chuckled Murr, moving away from Q’s extended hand. “If he’s mad at you then he’ll probably annihilate me.”

Q pocketed the phone with a grumble and threw himself onto Murr’s kitchen chair; he was miserable. Sal was his best friend, through thick and thin and they shared everything together. It was strange being out of the loop, even if most of it was brought on by his own paranoia. But what if he wasn’t paranoid and Sal was genuinely blowing him off?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's doughnuts on the left for those of you who got the movie references. If you didn't spot them then you can go right, to the kale section.


	6. Whispering Loudly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **There's another movie reference in this chapter. If you watch 'What Say You' then you might find it quicker than most. There's a little movement in this chapter, a little plot but not much. Next chapter will bring a bit more plot so for now just enjoy the angst.**

“Sal,” he whispered between cupped hands, squinting up at the top window where his best friend slept. “Saaaaaaaal.” 

It was midnight, no it was past midnight surely; Q tapped the glass of his watch trying to make out the numbers. “Afuckit,” he grumbled heavily, dropping his shoulders and leaning against Sal’s front door with an exasperated sigh. He’d been here for 20 minutes at least – although time had escaped him when he fell twice coming down the street - _stupid fuckin’ kerbs shoulda been fixed months ago_ ;and Sal wasn’t answering any of his texts, calls or howls from beneath the window. There wasn’t even a stray cat to keep him company. 

The night was cold and his thin jumper and scarf did nothing to keep away the bitter bite that late November brought forth. It was scenic; white wisps of heavy breath spiralled from between his lips, amber leaves scattered near the base of tree trunks waiting to be trodden on by wet December snow and gutters had been cleaned in preparation for Christmas decorations. But Q was too drunk to notice any of this beauty, and his only thoughts were on the pain in his brain. It didn’t make sense why Sal was shutting him out; there was no reason for the lack of contact and certainly not the cold shoulder during the final leg of the tour. 

He pondered for hours last night with Murray, both men analysing every detail of their friend’s behaviour; though Murr saw nothing unusual in the other joker’s behaviour and that angered Q further. Why was it just _him?_ His foggy mind couldn’t process the thoughts and all he felt was an irritating pain in his chest. He had sat for hours at home scrolling through twitter, trying to pin point times when Sal was active and purposely sending him texts; still nothing, no reply, no acknowledgement. It was only when Sal retweeted Murr’s periscope that Q took action. Maybe it was fueled by anger, maybe it was the six shots of whiskey he’d ploughed through over a particular bought of thinking; whatever it was it had impaired his rational judgement enough for him to make his way through the streets.

He’d have sat there all night brooding, half hoping for some cat to wonder by but knowing that Sal had probably installed electric fences to keep them away – he chuckled to himself at that thought- but eventually a light illuminated across the porch and broke his train of thought. He squinted at the silhouette behind the glass, nearly laughing with relief when the door cracked and Sal’s sludgy spectacled green eyes peered out at him. 

“What are you doing here?” asked Sal. His eyes trailed from the tips of Q’s conversed feet to the dishevelled hair on his head. _He’s been drinking_. Sal could smell the Jameson’s. 

“Did I wake ye?” was Q’s reply, resting his head against the door frame. The bright hall light hurt his eyes but he didn’t care because those few words were the most Sal had said to him in a while. He wanted to reach out and hug the man but couldn’t get his hands out of his pocket so instead grinned. “I missed you,” he murmured, closing his eyes.

“It’s almost one in the morning,” snipped Sal, scowling heavily at his drunken friend. “You can’t hang around my porch like this. People’ll think I’m nuts.”

Q opened his eyes and peered dolefully at Sal. There was something undetectable in Sal’s face and he couldn’t figure it out. There was an unfamiliar bite to the words he used, like they cut deep through Q and hit an old nerve. “We used always hang out on your porch,” he mumbled, finally tugging his hands free from his pockets and pushing himself from the door frame. There was a pain in his stomach, he knew it wasn’t the drink, and it mixed awfully with the hurt in his chest. Before he could control his reaction, Q’s eyes watered and a few tears slipped away from his grasp. He unashamedly wiped them away. “What’d I do?” he croaked, desperately pawing Sal’s hoody. “Tell me what I did a-and at least I can try fix it.”

Sal froze beneath the touch, just about resisting the need to pull away. Q held tighter to the jumper around his neck. “Y’wont text me or ring me anymore. Y’wont even answer my fuckin’ tuna texts, Sal.” He buried his head in Sal’s jumper and muffled a sob. 

“Dude, you’re drunk,” he said calmly, hesitantly putting a hand on Q’s shoulder and pushing him free. “Look at me man, you’re a mess. Get inside and I’ll give you some water.”

The kitchen light assaulted his vision and he rested heavily against Sal’s counter top, his eyes down trodden and the shame beginning to bubble. He wasn’t drunk enough to beat back his emotions and his treacherous tears let him down. He looked an idiot, he knew that and now Sal had an impression of him. If his best friend wasn’t already angry enough with him then he certainly would be now. 

A glass of water was pressed to his palm and he hesitantly sipped it, knowing he wasn’t getting anything stronger. Sal wasn’t like Murr, who’d give him anything to shut him up. Sal was softer and more caring and was kind enough to let him into his home at one in the morning and give him water and let him cry on his hoody. Sal was the kind of guy who felt warm against his body, even in November and even when he was drunk. 

“I fucked up Sal,” he cried, abandoning the water to lean against the counter. “Whatever I did jus’ lemmie know and I’ll make it better. I’m a dickhead, I know but I-I need you man. You’re my best friend dude. _My best friend._ ”

“You can take the couch tonight,” said Sal, chucking the water down the drain and moving to the door. He cast an eye over Q’s dishevelled feature, fighting the swarm of emotions back and willing himself to not cross the kitchen and grab his best friend. He wanted to scream and shout, maybe even hit the idiot and it might bring a bought of sense into his _thick skull_. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said through gritted teeth when Q whined again. “Jus’ sleep, Q, please; I’m tired.”

It didn’t take much to haul Q’s ass to the couch; the haggard man fell asleep almost instantly, seeking Sal’s hand before willingly resting. It was agony; relentless emotional torment to have Q so close and so vulnerable and so willing to do anything. His hand felt so familiar, so warm and when Sal weakened for that split second and checked to see if their palms still molded perfectly together, he almost cried in desperation - always perfect. Sal found himself taking a step back to ensure he didn’t do or say something he regretted the next morning, but there was enough space on his couch for two and he almost sat beside the sleeping Q. 

He would have done so if he had been drunk or if he hadn’t talked himself out of it at the last second and retreated to the back garden where he now sat dejectedly on the bench. The only light source was from the top of his cigarette which burned red in the dark. It was so ironic just how alive nicotine made his lungs feel; with each inhale that swelled the precious tissue in his chest, a wonderful sensation of calm devoured his frantic neurons. 

He had seen Q on the porch long before finally answering the door; how could he miss the man’s drunken ‘whispers’ through his letter box? It would have been funny if he wasn’t so scared and he would have been mad if he wasn’t so sure that he fuckin’ loved Q with all his heart. Joe had made it clear, so very clear and it was so very terrifying. While his best friend had sobbed into his shoulder, all that Sal could focus on was the smell of whisky, coffee and vanilla that was only Q. 

_’What’d I do?’_

He inhaled between his teeth and looked to the sky, playing the desperately choked pleas over in his mind. You’ve done so fuckin’ much Q, he thought to himself while admiring the stars that seemed to knowingly twinkle. _You’ve put me in a situation and you know I don’t handle situations well. You took my heart Q, all those years ago and even when you called it off, you never did give it back._ Joe had asked how it had ended and it took mere seconds for that night to come back, fresh in his mind as if he had just relived all again. 

 

****

**1994**

_The suit was perfectly tailored to his lean body but fuck, it itched like hell. He staggered out of the house and onto the street, resisting the urge to pee in the middle of the road and instead stumbled to an alley between the houses. Jesus Christ, the relief! He groaned with satisfaction, holding himself up with one hand against the wall and hanging his head back to face the wet sky. He was too drunk to care what the rain did to his hair._

_“Y’know what them sounds do ta me, Vulcano?” the thick accent asked and he jumped. “Don’t turn ‘round.”_

_A set of arms laced around his waist and a familiar body pressed against his back, already moulding to his thin contours. His cock shamelessly dripped pee onto the brick wall and he couldn’t help crack a drunken grin. “Quinn,” he smirked and the familiar chuckle sent goosebumps along his neck._

_“You not hangin’ ‘round with your date?” asked Brian, breathing lazily into Sal’s ear. His breath smelled heavily of cheap beer and somewhere behind Sal’s drunken haze, he could smell sweet liqueurs. They had often met in dark places like this, only to trade very brief dark secrets. Experimenting, that’s what they called it; that’s what Brian insisted it was. But Sal, no … to Sal it was so much more._

_“She’s inside. I’m just headin’ back,” he said, tucking himself away and easing around to face Brian. He looked God awful: bow tie undone and hanging loose over his chest, hair askew and if Sal squinted he was sure there was a thin claw mark down his left cheek where his date had probably batted him off._

_Q’s dark eyes were black in the dim light but Sal could tell that they were glazed with intoxication. “Dude, let’s go grab a H20,” he suggested with a weak smile. Brian always looked so good. “Where’s your date?”_

_“Ah, she’s aroun’,” he said, waving into thin air and taking a dodgy step backwards. Sal shot an arm out to catch him with an eye roll. “Don’t you wanna’ hang out with me?” Brian’s frame pushed him against the wall and Sal bit his lip, tightening his eyes to concentrate. It was difficult to think when Brian’s warm breath fluttered near his neck and when soft lips nuzzled the delicate spot behind his ear. He cursed himself to hell when his stupid body betrayed him._

_“No, Bry. We’re finished with this, remember?” He swallowed hard and clenched his fists by his side. “You said so yer’self, last month when you left me hangin’ that night.”_

_“I was an idiot,” Brian mumbled, his fingers cupping the tent in Sal’s pants. “You wouldn’t let me down, right?”_

_“I said no,” snapped Sal, guiding his best friend’s drunken body away from his own and turning and stepping away from the confines of the wall. Brian made a low sound, hurt and jittery. His words were incoherent but his sobs were clear as he slumped against the wall. “You’re drunk, man,” snapped Sal, throwing an arm underneath Brian’s to hoist him straight._

_“I’m not drunk,” he mumbled, laughing a little and then leaned over to rest his palms on his knees with a deep sigh. “S’love, Sal.”_

_“Don’t be a fuckin’ idiot,” Sal bit, choking back the noises he had almost made. It was only experimenting, that’s all they did. That’s what Brian said, that’s all it was. Nothing more; it couldn’t be anything more because it would fuckin’ kill him to think of his friend as anything other than a friend. And when they were hungover and recovering, Brian would only remember the first few shots and think he’d professed his love to Amanda Henson after they woke up together in a locked bathroom. What Brian wouldn’t know was that Sal left early that night and cried._

 

Exhaling was the most relieving part of having a smoke; allowing your lungs to deflate after the vapour has done its job to sooth and calm and knocked a few healthy cells to shreds along the way. The cigarette had burned to the butt and he stubbed it against the bench, wiping a fresh tear in the process and wanting nothing other than to lie on his back and scream at the sky. His chest hurt so fuckin' bad; a longing, endless ache that seemed to ball into one powerful surge of emotions and threaten to throw him over the edge. 

“Why’d you have to call over,” he asked the ground, tugging his hair and scratching hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Walks out of the room.**


	7. "K."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> **It's October 1st guys and guess what I did? I collected chestnuts 8) I took a lovely little walk through a tiny little woodland with my teeny little polka dot backpack and it was a huge lot beautiful. I hope you're all having a lovely Saturday and are spending it wisely: read, write, listen to music, take a walk, have a shower or just look in the mirror and say _'You got this.'_**  
> 

“Morning.”

The greeting was so soft that Sal wouldn’t have heard it if he hadn’t already been on high alert; coming down the stairs ever so gently and praying that Q was either gone home or at least sleeping. He froze on the last stair, one foot hovering and sighed deeply. Sleep hadn’t come last night and the remnants of his fitful thoughts were discarded across the garden bench, cigarette after cigarette after cigarette. He wasn’t ready for this. _What’ll it take for you to be ready, Vulcano?_ That was easy for Joe to ask, this entire situation was too simple for Joe to even _get it_ entirely, but Sal stopped his thinking before he blackened another friend in his mind because Joe had been so supportive about this. 

Glancing over at the couch, he was grateful that Q was too dishevelled to hold himself upright, and instead was leaning forward to stare at the carpet. His shoulders were perked so high that his head almost disappeared between them and his hands were clasped prayer like, fingers slowly working away the panic that Sal knew he was having. Q took Xanax, Sal knew this and had done for years, but Sal also knew that Q was a general mess when it came to social awkwardness and a small part of him was grateful for the discomfort his friend was surely feeling. _A tooth for a tooth._

“Sal, I jus-"

“Save it,” he said, coming into the front room and towering over his shrunken friend. “D’you know how worried I was? I couldn’t sleep for thinkin’ about your drunken arse staining my cream couches.” Q looked up and Sal nearly melted on the spot when he saw the confusion that swam in those beautiful brown eyes. _‘You gotta tell him, Sal. You deserve to know’._ He took a seat across the room and mimicked Q’s position. “Dude, we gotta talk.”

Q visibly flinched in his seat. “Whatever it is man, I-I can take it. I’m big enough to own my shit. Just tell me, please.”

_‘A – He’s your best friend…’_

“Q, I want you to know that you’re my best friend and that I’ve treated you horribly the last few weeks a-and that I wanted to say I’m sorry for doing that to you.” Sal bit his lower lip, willing every negative thought in his mind to go the fuck away and let him do this, let him be a man about this and let him maybe find peace, at last. Q’s eyes peered expectantly back at him, drinking every word and Sal knew in this moment that he could say _anything_ and Q would go along with it, because as a human being he was just as fuckin’ broken. Together, they were the ultimate piece of work for the welder’s bench.

_‘… you deserve happiness, Sal.’_

It took a lot not to choke on his own breath when he opened his mouth next, but no sound came out and it was replaced with an audible gulp. _So does Q, Joe, so does he. This isn’t going to make you happy Q, this is going to make you angry and I know it will because Joe is right and I know you better than any one of them and I know that you deserve to know just as much as I do, because you’re my best friend._

“Please, Sal. What have I done to you?” asked Q; his eyes tilted with worry and his hands extended. Oh, how Sal wished he could just mould their palms together again, just one more time before he ruined everything. _I’m sorry Q; sorry I’ll tell you and ruin everything, sorry I’ll create a rift and nothing will ever be the same. I’m sorry I’m doing this to you but I love you and you need to know. I deserve peace, Q. ___

With a sigh, he blinked once and looked his best friend of 26 years dead in the eye. “I like you, Q. way more than I should and I want so much more than your friendship.” 

To anyone it would look as if Q hadn’t moved an inch, but to Sal - who knew that man better than he knew the back of his hand – Q had flinched just ever so slightly and the previous wallow of confusion in those warm eyes hardened. “I-I know this is abrupt, I know. But I didn’t choose to have these feelin’s about you, Q, because God knows I’ve tried to squash them over the years.” 

Q sat silently, his once tense hands now hanging limp over each knee. 

Sal continued shakily, his bottom lip now shredded between his teeth. “I couldn’t make sense of what was going on with me and I couldn’t-” His voice cracked and he took a shaky breath, eyes falling to the carpet and a wringing pain in his gut. “I don’t want to make the feelings go away because they make me feel alive. _You_ make me feel alive.”

Q was silent for several minutes more, his mouth parted slightly and Sal noted how his eyes flickered over every inch of his own face. Every voice in his head screamed at him for ever admitting anything, berated him and called him an idiot and a selfish bastard for even daring to ruin everything like this. He was embarrassed; cheeks a flame and stomach churning with nerves. The familiar burn that came with tears assaulted his tired eyes and he refused to wipe them away, telling himself that he deserved the shame that came with his stupid, stupid actions. 

“You still like me?” asked Q in a trembling breath and Sal dropped his head into his hands. Humiliation washed over every bone in his body – _‘You still like me’_ \- and he wanted to get up and leave, but it was his house and he couldn’t run far enough away from what he had just done.

“I’m _sorry_. Sorry that you had to find out and that I couldn’t keep it together and-” He tugged his hair with a distorted groan. “I can’t do this,” he cried, shoving his fringe back with a sniff and standing up. “You have to go. Now.”

He was across the room in three swift steps and pulling the front door open.

Q stumbled off the couch, stuttering with confusion. “W-wait. I can’t go now man, not when you’ve just-” He held out both hands and shook his head at the floor. “What the hell jus’ happened?”

“Just go, please. I can’t do this right now. I need _time_.” He pulled the door wider and motioned toward the porch. 

Q scoffed and ran a hand through his hair. “You need _time_? Sal, what do you expect to happen here? You can’t jus’ admit to that and then kick me out, man. We have to-”

_“You_ came to my house _drunk_ and hung around on my porch for _40 minutes_ ,” he yelled, fists balled at his sides. “I think that _I’ve_ got the right to ask you to _leave_.” He took a step back and stared hard at the wall. “Just go.”

Q obliged, crossing the threshold and then turned half way to peer over his shoulder. “You never gave me time to reply,” he quietly mentioned. “I thought I had an answer and now I dunno.”

Sal closed the door, leaning heavily against the glass and sunk to the floor in one shaky sob. _Well done Vulcano._

_****_

* * * *

_‘I like you, Q._

Wandering the same stretch of road had become tiring and Q eventually settled for a coffee in a dingy street off 53rd, where the only inhabitants were sleazy souls looking for a quick buck. You can’t buy happiness but you can buy coffee; ironically enough that was the slogan printed on his t-shirt when he found a seat in the darkest corner, and it was also exactly how he felt. 

Sal’s confession had caught him off guard, way off guard in fact. It explained a lot if he was to be honest, but right now he was annoyed with his friend for even admitting to it. It had taken a lot not to storm back to Sal’s home and drag him out, kicking and screaming if it came to that, and demand he speak with him. _How dare he shut me out all these weeks, how dare he torment me this way and all for what; a simple declaration of four fuckin’ words that he’s kept secret over how many years exactly?_

_‘…I want so much more than your friendship’_

Q tousled his hair and sighed into the steaming cup. He should be feeling something right now other than anger. But he was annoyed with Sal; annoyed that he kept this secret for so long and when he thought for a while extra, Q realised that he was more annoyed with himself. _You broke it off, y’know? You were the one to call it off._ He tried to shake the thoughts from his mind, knowing it was a slippery decent into treacherous territory if he started obsessing over the past. _Too late._

**1994**

_His breath was heavy on my skin, sending a beautiful thrill from tips to tops; Jesus Christ, he’s perfect. My hands couldn’t find enough skin to scratch and explore, even when he let me remove his shirt and took a step back for me to admire. He was sharp in all the right places and my hands seemed to be made for those hips. His finger plucked my bottom lip and if they looked anything like his – swollen and kiss bruised – neither of us would be venturing out for the rest of the night. I wasn’t sure what this was; I hadn’t put much thought into it because all I could do was_ feel _when he was around. I could feel his hands against my skin, clawing the goosebumps only he could create. I could feel the bulge in his pants scrape my own and that alone sent me spiralling. I could feel the leap in my heart every time he looked my way. There never was much time to think.  
_

_We hadn’t been doing this for long –whatever this was – but we were getting bolder; stopping behind corners to share a quick kiss, briskly brushing knuckles when no one was looking. It was one big secret and every second of the thrill excited me beyond thought. God, what I wouldn’t give to tell someone; but can you imagine the reaction?_

_”Wanna stay over tonight?” Sal whispered, palming my cheeks and squeezing gently. His green eyes always drew me in; they were swampy in the dark, like sludge from the forest, but in this light they danced like emeralds._

_“Of course,” I told him, pulling his face towards mine for another kiss._

The coffee had long cooled when he took a miserable sup and grimaced at the bitter taste. He shouldn’t have allowed his mind wander, shouldn’t have indulged the memories; Sal wasn’t the only one who had fought the daemons off all these years. Now he was more miserable, suddenly broody for the past and all in all, he hadn't a fuckin' notion where they went from here. How do you come back from this? How do you pretend everything is normal when nothing is? Q shouldn’t have left without a fight; he knew that now that he had brooded the last hour in the coffee shop and all the while his finger hovered over Sal’s number, debating.

He knew Sal better than _anyone_ ; knew that right now the man was in a desperate temper with himself and that usually ended in torment. He was dramatic and pessimistic; Sal was the right recipe for a stupid choice. But Q also knew that Sal loved life to an immeasurable amount and would never do anything dangerous, so instead of ringing he opened his texts and sent a quick message.

********  


Sometimes it’s better to be alone where nobody can hurt you. Sal had cried bitter tears for over an hour, shouting obscenities into his pillow and berating every inch of his soul to a withered complexion. He was a fool for ever thinking he would be strong enough to do this; a bigger idiot for even doing it and worse so for bringing the matter up at all to Joe, never mind Q. _stupid, stupid, stupid._ His phone had pinged 3 times the last half hour and he didn’t care to see who was bothering him. Whoever it was couldn’t take the pain away; they couldn’t take away the image of Q’s warm eyes hardening after hearing what he had to say and Jesus Christ, that tiny reaction had hurt him like a fuckin’ bitch. It had cut right through his essence and put a stop to every morsel of confidence he had had in opening his big mouth. Anger was Sal’s fall back reaction, right after desperation and when delirium was about to take over, he became irrational and now that he couldn’t force anymore tears, he had started to regret throwing Q out. 

Beyond that hardened glare Sal had maybe seen a glint of confusion. _Of course he was confused you idiot. You just told him that you still like him after a bloody teen fling. What d’you expect?_ Truth be told, he hadn’t known what to expect. Certainly not for himself to flip out and and maybe he had expected Q to hit him - maybe he would have preferred that to what had actually happened - heck, laughing it off and going for a beer would have probably been the better outcome. No, this had been a complete spanner in the works. He certainly hadn't expected Q to want to stay and _talk_. 

Rolling over and wiping the last remnants of tears furiously, he sniffled and reached for his phone. Two messages from Joe: _(1) How ye feeling buddy? Was thinking pizza and pints in my place Friday? (2) There’ll be beer battered onion riiiiings._ Sal huffed at the text, a small smile breaking his grimace. No matter what, whether Joe was on the scene or far away, he always knew just what to say – even when he didn’t know what had happened! He made a mental note to reply later when he felt better. Joe didn’t deserve the brunt of his emotions and Sal certainly didn't want to have to explain why Q might not turn up and oh, while he was at it, maybe they can all go work in a salon because he had ruined all of their careers because of his own pitiful little heart. 

The third message was from Q and at this Sal’s self professed pitiful little heart skipped a number of beats; his stomach somersaulted and he felt ill. _Relax._ Whatever was the click of a button away couldn’t harm him physically. It might emotionally rip him to shreds - as if that were possible anymore - but for now his physical well-being was intact. He breathed deep and opened the message:

_We’ve got too much history to let this slide, Sal. Meet me this week, please?_

He pondered the question for hours that night, thumb typing and erasing word after word, until finally settling on one syllable: _K._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> **Does anyone like pumpkin spice? I don't, but just saying it makes me feel festive for the autumn season. So if you do like that awful taste than I've left a plate of pumpkin spice doughnuts on the _right > today. If you're like me and just appreciate a good ole' glaze, then y'all know where to go._**  
> 


	8. Egg Florentine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> **For Vic, the anonymous who was so ready for this.**  
> 

Red walls and chestnut brown tables littered the little Starbucks and each small table had a Christmas Bauble candle in the centre. Funny how the first day of December meant an immediate change in décor, but Sal loved every inch of the season. Light bells jingled over the cheery voices of the other drinkers and from where he stood in line, Sal could see people in their hundreds milling by with armfuls of shopping bags. Cinnamon scent and ground orange filled the air and for a short while he felt wonderfully happy in this tiny little piece of the Christmas season. 

“A regular cappuccino with almond milk for Salvatore,” the lady called over the crowd and he grimaced, throwing a side long glance at Joe. Mumbling thanks he skimmed back to their table and settled nearest the wall. 

“Salvatore?” he asked scornfully, holding up his cup before surrendering two more cups to his friend.

“Hi, I’m Joe,” was the reply and Sal mimicked him distastefully.

They had shopped for ages this morning, starting early to beat the crowds and eventually meeting Bessy so that Joe could take his daughter for a few hours. It was unusual shopping with Joe; the joker rarely had time outside of work and family commitments to spend a few hours wandering the shops. Then there was the fact that Sal usually shopped with Q during Christmas, only because the man was incompetent with gift picking but mostly because they always had such a good time together. 

He shook the mood before it dampened the day and took a sip of his cappuccino, reaching over to ruffle Milana’s tuft of hair, receiving a hearty giggle in return. Joe tipped a portion of hot chocolate into a sippy cup and passed it to his daughter. “If Mommy asks, this is juice, okay Uncle Sal?” he said, leaning back to sip from his own cup. Within the same breath he asked, “So what do we do about this _Q-urious_ case of yours?”

Sal threw his eyes to the ceiling and took a breath, tempted to shake his head but refused to resign to the conversation too quickly. “Well, I haven’t had much time to think of it.” That wasn’t a lie; after replying to Q’s text two days ago, Sal had kept intentionally busy. During the day he scoured his home until his knuckles bled, ran the mileage up in his car until he’d almost run out of petrol, and walked the length and breadth of his hallway until his calves had burned. “It’s only when I try to sleep that I think about it. I mean, what’s there to say? I told him, I freaked, I threw him out and then he leaves me with these cryptic last words.” _‘I thought I had an answer and now I dunno’._ “So yeah, I dunno.”

“Well if you ask me I think that y’gotta arrange neutral ground, like a coffee shop or Walmart,” suggested Joe, only half joking after hearing of Sal’s episode. “At least there you’ll be conscious of breakin’ things that y’can’t afford. Works in both yer favours.” He accepted a sticky marshmallow from his daughters hand and blew her a raspberry. “Maybe stay away from the pointy objects buddy,” he added on second thought. 

Sal absentmindedly stirred his coffee, half humming at Joe’s suggestions but mostly considering how this arrangement was actually going to work. He didn’t really think that he and Q would get into an argument after what had happened, but if he was honest with himself, then he realised that they owed each other a number of apologies. Firstly and foremost, Sal knew he shouldn’t have blown up the way that he did; it was irrational and the moment the words left his mouth he wanted to take them back. 

“D’you think anythin’ will come of it?” asked Joe, eyeing him up from across the table. “I mean anything other than friendship ‘cause that’s yer main goal right now buddy. Make things right again.”

Sal shrugged and took another sip. Of course he knew friendship was the main goal. Did Joe think he could actually live knowing he ruined everything? _No, Joe does not think that. Don’t start._ “D’you think Murr knows?” he asked at last, feeling guilty for excluding his other friend from such a pivotal moment in his life. It was just like him to have these damn moments that required broadcasting. 

Joe scoffed and nicked a marshmallow from Milana’s tiny plate. “You think that old fox hasn’t already figured somethin' out?” said Joe, nibbling the sugary fluff thoughtfully. “Q would have been to see him. Not to tell him you freaked,” Joe added quickly to sooth Sal’s panicked look. “Murray would have been onto you like lightenin’ if he thought you were upset man. Y’know how he gets, Sal. Murray cares about the world.”

Sal nodded in agreeance. Joe was right of course, he always was. 

“Would you _like_ somethin’ more to come from this?” Joe asked slyly. 

Sal felt a blush creep along his cheeks and was instantly annoyed with himself. How many times had he thought of this scenario in his head? How many times had he imagined coming home to Q and embracing the warmth in his arms? Hundreds of times, was the answer and neither times made him blush in private. _That’s only because it’s difficult to blush in a cold shower pal._ He reddened further at his thoughts. 

Joe smirked triumphantly across the table; leaning back to fold one leg over the other, he rose an eyebrow over the rim of his raised cup. “So you _do_ wanna-“ Joe looked shiftily towards his daughter and raised a hand to block her view of his mouth. “ _Do. The. Deed_ ,” he mouthed creepily. 

“For God sake, Joe; don’t say it like that, please,” he whined, burning his mouth on a gulp he would hope took his mind off the thoughts. He wanted to do so many things to Q, so many things he wasn’t sure were legal in some states but more than anything in the world, he just wanted for Q to be his friend. Even if that meant they could never be anything more; he’d go see someone, a shrink or something, just to get rid of these feelings. 

“Hey beautiful,” Joe called over Sal’s head, a smile breaking his features into pure happiness that Sal for a moment was jealous of. He felt a hand rest on his shoulder and Joe’s wife came into view, leaning across the table to give her husband a quick peck on the cheeks. Sal could see Joe frantically cleaning spilled hot chocolate from the high chair where his daughter was unwillingly surrendering the evidence. 

Sal smiled warmly when Bessy tutted. “I can see you trying to hide the hot chocolate, Joe,” she said with a laugh, wiping a stain from Milana’s cheek and kissing her daughter. Sal couldn’t help wish in that moment that he had all the things Joe had, except with Q and no one else. 

** * * * *  **

Thursday came all too quickly.

Sal was sure the soles of his socks had worn thin from his pacing that morning. Back and forth over the carpet, he had gone through a handful of excuses to cancel and had almost gone through with faking a cold, but Joe had rung to insist he stick it out. With a dejected sigh and churning stomach, he arrived at the small diner on Victory Boulevard and took a seat in the furthest red booth beneath the television. 

The Staten Island Diner was a favourite local of theirs; had been for years and they were known well around these parts. It might have been a poor choice if there was an argument but Sal was comforted by the familiarity. The genuine smile from waitresses who were too local to be star struck always made him feel at ease. 

He scanned the menu, eyes flying straight to Q’s favourite – chicken quesadilla – and then considered ordering an iced frappe but was too nervous he’d flee in the process. Sal didn’t have a game plan, he came into this raw and open; that was his best option according to cosmopolitan magazine and he had no shame admitting he might have resorted to Google for advice. He was terrified how he’d react when Q walked through the door – he scanned his watch with five minutes to go – and what if he had nothing to say at all? What if this is where it all ended, in some shitty fuckin’ diner that charged twelve bucks for Eggs Florentine. _What the hell even is Eggs Florentine?_

“Sal?”

The menu didn’t stop shaking even though his entire body felt frozen. When he looked up, Q was fidgeting with two glass bottles of Snapple and his mouth was twisted into an awkwardly taut smile. For a few moments their eyes flickered everywhere but at one another, until Q nodded at the seat across from Sal. “C-can I sit?”

“Sit,” he replied more briskly than meaning to. “I-I mean yeah.”

Q slid into the booth and placed his keys in the centre of their table, sliding one bottle across to Sal with a short nod. “Peach tea. Your favourite.”

“Thanks,” said Sal, toying with the lid to keep his hands busy and his mind from racing too quick for him to catch up with. He examined a crack on the table and pencil marks where someone had scratched ‘ _M 4 C_ ’ into the wood. Part of him bitterly hoped that whoever M and C where that they were having a miserable time of it. 

Sal and Q had had a lot of awkward moments in their lives; Q infamously proposing to his girlfriend and then being dumped mere weeks later. Sal had a desperate track record for being cheated on and yet here they sat, two men who were so experienced in awkward declarations and they couldn’t jumble two words between them.

“I’m very confused,” Q meekly started and Sal’s heart skipped a beat at the sound. His eyes were trained solely on the label of the Snapple bottle that he was picking away at. “I don’t really understand – well I do get it – but I don’t…” He looked up at Sal with a sigh and hesitant smile etched his face. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”

Sal returned the smile but it vanished when he heard Q speak again. 

“I was so worried about you on the tour, that I’d done somethin’ to piss you off or-or that I don’t now, just hurt you somehow. I had been to see Murr the night before I came round yours.” His eyes flickered apologetically. “I’m sorry about that y’know? I didn’t mean to for it to be a big thing. I-I’d just-”

Sal cut him off with a head shake. “I owe you an apology for that,” he admitted. “I cut you off on the tour and that was wrong of me. I fucked with your head by doing that a-and I didn’t intend for you bein’ hurt. So yeah, I am sorry for that.”

“I was very confused too,” Sal continued, more bravely now that Q’s eyes were trained on the bottle and he felt the confidence grow within him. Weeks of pent up imaginary conversations came to the tip of his tongue and before he could help himself, his emotions spilled all over the table. “This is the scariest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever done man. Telling you how I felt – especially after all these years – was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I didn’t know how you’d react; in fact I kinda expected you to _hit_ me.” He laughed softly at Q’s half astonished look and when he mumbled that he’d never do such a thing to his best friend in the whole world, Sal continued forth. “Sometimes I think back to when we were young and when things were so much simpler. Back to the days when-”

“Back to the days when all we worried about was pullin’ dates and where our next buck was comin’ from,” said Q with a grin. Then his grin wavered to a shaky breath and he reached across the table, almost touching Sal’s hand but faltering at the last second. “Except my dates were only excuses to fit in with everyone else. I never really cared about Amanda Henson an’ her perfect hair. I only cared about you, man.”

Words neglected Sal in that moment and he settled for staring dumbfound at Q, whose eyes were pleading mercy and Sal couldn’t stop the pity that washed over him there and then. He was an array of questions: some that made his stomach flutter – _‘Does this mean you like me too?’_ \- and others which hurt to think about – _‘Then why’d you fuckin’ leave me?’_. He didn’t care to voice either of these questions, terrified of each answer and how he’d react. All he wanted to do was treasure the moment that stood, where Q’s big eyes were pleading him for forgiveness, where Q’s hair stuck carelessly out of his hat, where Q’s mossy green hoody complimented him so well, where’s Q’s thick silver ring almost looked like a wedding band that maybe in Sal’s dreams they’d exchange in an alternative universe. He just wanted to pause.

“And I ruined everything,” said Q with a hitch in his breath. Sal heard him swallow hard. “I let you go all those years ago, Sal. That’s on me.”

It was an acknowledgment that he hadn’t expected to hear; maybe sometime in the future if there was one, but certainly not here and now. “Why?” choked Sal, unable to stop the emotions that dripped from his voice and clung to his features. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **I know, I know. Why the fuck did I end it there? The next chapter will be written from Q's P.O.V and it'll be in first person. He's going to tell us exactly why he let Sal go.  
> **
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading guys. You don't know how much it means to me. Have a doughnut.


	9. Two Glass Snapple Bottles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> **This chapter will be told through Q’s P.O.V up until the first person narrative ends. Then it will continue as normal.**
> 
>  
> 
> **Some of the terminology is offensive in this chapter. So if you're sensitive to anything gay then maybe this isn't for you.**  
> 

**\- 1994-**

The locker room was empty when I finished showering; everyone hightailed on a Monday because it was milkshake day. I used to lead the crowd to milkshake Monday’s, showering as quick as possible to be the first in line for one of the limited chocolate malts, but then I realised that Sal wasn’t keen on milkshakes and took his time showering. Now I lazed back, idling with the laces on my sneakers just to spend more time with him. 

He was cramming wet gear into his hockey locker when I snuck up behind him and pressed him against the cool metal. He always made this tiny shriek – you’d think by now he knew I was comin’ for him – and his back always arched enough for his ass to rub against my crotch. My hands found the curve of his hips and squeezed.

”I like your hair when it’s wet,” I murmured against his neck, kissing the wet droplets that trickled down his neck. “Gotta make a point to take my time more often if it means havin’ you to myself.

Sal shrugged me away with an eye roll, but I could see the smirk he was trying to hide. “You haven’t had chocolate malt in about 3 weeks, Quinn,” he said, elbowing the locker door closed and turning to face me with his arms crossed. “You’ve been spendin’ plenty time watching me.”

He always was an observant bastard and I hoped I was smiling enough to know it wasn’t intended to be creepy. I just liked being able to surprise him. Secret kisses were more exciting than the heated sessions we shared behind closed doors; anyone could mess around in a locked bedroom. But kissing in public, in _school_ , that was exciting. That was what made my pants twitch uncomfortably for the rest of the day. 

“One kiss,” I pouted, resting my hand against the locker. He was biting his lower lip in that way he knew I adored. _Fuckit, Vulcano._

“What if someone sees?” he asked, eyes flicking over my shoulder. 

My head swivelled on instinct, scanning the empty row of green lockers and listened carefully for any movement, running water or soft breaths that might be listening. There was no one. He’s being paranoid. “No one’s gonna miss Milkshake Monday,” I told him, waving a hand to brush his notions away. “No one ‘cept us.”

My hand found the waistband of his sweat pants, tugging them suggestively and he batted me away with one of his infamous blushes creeping across his sun kissed face. God, he was too easy sometimes. His perfectly sculpted cheeks had this ever glow about them and I just couldn’t resist leaning in to kiss one of them. The heat radiated and warmed my lips and even though I knew he was worried about being caught, I could still feel his cheeks lift into a smile. 

We jumped in sync when the final lunch bell rang and the rumble in my stomach brought me back to reality. “Shit, sorry about lunch,” I murmured, scratching the back of my head. We had a Spanish text next – I was gonna fail whether I liked it or not – and I’d have fancied a milkshake to get me through the imminent F.

“I got milk duds in my locker,” he said and his hand reached out to brush my fringe away. He was always soft with his touches. His eyes flicked quickly behind me again and he grinned, before capturing my lips in a quick kiss, then pushed me back with one finger and led the way into the halls. I followed him like a dog on a leash, deciding there and then that this week was the week I’d tell him that I was fuckin’ crazy about him.

** * * * *  **

I trudged the length of the soccer field in a mood. Practice was never on Monday’s but Leon had sent word around to say there was extra tonight, so here I was in my gear and bearing a grudge because I knew I wouldn’t get to see Sal tonight. James had called around earlier to do homework and we’d talked about prom for a bit. I didn’t really wanna go but he was insisting that Amanda Henson was only waiting for me to ask. Little did she know…

The bleachers were empty except for Leon, Robbie and John. “Where’s everyone?” I asked, tossing my bag onto the seats and lounging back to stare at the sky. I used to see my brother lounge like this when we’d go camping during summer, expect he’d always have a cigarette in his hand and looked really cool. I guess that image stuck with me . 

“There’s been a change in plans,” said Robbe, jumping from his seat to look down at me. He was huge from this angle; a midfield soccer player who shoulda played football with those shoulders. I had nothing on him but he was a friend. “We’ve gotta talk to you about something, Quinn. A quick word is all and we’ll be on our way.”

They flanked either side of me – Leon above my left shoulder, John above my right and Robbie between my spread legs – and I knew from their stares that something wasn’t right. My stomach flipped uncomfortably when Robbie leaned closer to my face and rested his palms on both my knees. I laughed nervously. “Guys, what’s goin’ on?”

“You tell me,” said Robbie menacingly, his nose almost brushing against mine. His breath smelled like a McDonald’s burger and I could see a string of grey meat lodged in his bottom teeth. 

“I-I don’t know man. What’s this about?” I couldn’t move an inch with them around me and then Leon and John clutched my upper arms tightly. I tried to jerk away, trying to pull my arm free but there grip on my muscle dug tight and it hurt. “Dude, what the fuck. Lemmie go.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” said John, squeezing my arm tighter and I almost yelped from the pain. “I know you like a bit of _man_ handling, don’t’cha Quinn?

They laughed together. It sounded harsh against the empty bleachers and I looked to each of them, desperately trying to find the humour in their eyes; there was nothing but malice. I knew of course then exactly what they were referring to and every morsel of me felt weak. They’d often go on about this kinda thing, cracking jokes and making empty threats of what they’d do to people like… well, people who felt the way I felt. But I thought it was all stupid and empty. 

“How long’d it take you to get into Vulcano’s pants?” spat Robbie. “I never took him for being the _bitch_ type.”

“I dunno what you’re on about, Robbie. I’m not like that,” I desperately lied, wishing I could cross my fingers because I _was_ like that. 

He threw his head back and I could see right into his throat, way past the cracked teeth and right back to where his tonsils bulged. “You know I’m not an idiot, Quinn. You know me too well to know I don’t make a move unless it’s supported.” He reached into his jacket pocket and my entire body froze. What the fuck was in his pocket? Was it a weapon? I nearly laughed with relief when he pulled out a square piece of paper. The worst he could do was paper cut me to death. 

“I wouldn’t smirk for long if I were you, Quinn,” said John with a painful tug of my shoulder. “Show him, Rob.” 

Robbie turned the piece of paper over and I froze all over again, my entire body straightening with fear. It was a picture; a picture of Sal with his hands wrapped around my waist and my hands cupping his face while we kissed. It was a passionate moment, anyone could tell from the way we leaned against each other and I remembered it all too well. It had been my fault. I’d cornered him that day in the bathrooms and instigated the kiss. 

“Guys-” I started to say, but my excuse was cut short by a heavy pain in my stomach where Robbie’s fist connected. I coughed, keeling forwards but was dragged back by the other two, gasping for breath and struggling against the hold. The pain was in my chest where I couldn’t catch a breath. 

“We don’t allow _faggots_ on this team, Quinn,” hissed Robbie, squeezing my knees with the tips of his fingers. He landed another blow to my side and I yelled out, spluttering in agony and begging for him to listen to me. “So here’s what’s gonna happen. Are you listening?”

I nodded pathetically, curling in on myself and knowing I looked a state, but I didn’t give a fuck. It hurt too much. His breath was overpowering again and he grimaced at me. “If I so much as hear a _whisper_ that you freaks are seeing each other like that again, I will have this picture all over the school in the blink of an eye.” I nodded limply, drool gathering in the corner of my lip. My stomach hurt now and I wanted to curl into a ball. “Secondly, you’ll be on this soccer team whether you like it or not. Faggot or not, you’ll do your part and you’ll put up with _my_ shit whether you like it or not.”

My eyes stung with tears. I couldn’t cry in front of them. It’d only power them more and I couldn’t make myself any weaker. My thoughts were on Sal; he’d be studying now for the maths test we had first period tomorrow. He was gonna ace it no matter what; bastard always did. I wondered briefly if he was wearing my hoody. I’d given him my black one to take home last week and I had his in my gear bag.

“As for Vulcano, we’ll deal with him accordingly depending on how good you’re being,” said Leon, wrenching my arm around. “Hasn’t he got a father in the military? I don’t think daddy dearest would be happy to hear about his precious son’s _sick_ agenda.” 

I cried inside, my head running ninety with worry about Sal and what’d happen if anyone found out he was… if he was maybe _gay_ or whatever we were. I still had no idea what was happening; just that he was my every thought and I’d do anything for him. That’s why I nodded my head with each demand. I don’t know how his family would react, I don’t know how mine would react; I just know that what we did together wasn’t really appreciated by a lot of people and if stopping it kept Sal safe then that’s what’s I’d do.

It was the blow to my cheek that sealed the deal and the promises that Sal would know all about it if I didn’t keep my end of the ‘bargain’. I don’t know if they knew what the word bargain actually meant, but this wasn’t it. I was thrown into the dirt, my bag emptied across the ground and each of them took a turn to kick my legs before they scuttled into the dark, mumbling and laughing as they went. I rolled over and my hand found the picture they’d left as a parting gift. I held it to my face and let bitter tears roll off my cheeks, then my ears and then disappear into the dirt. My thumb caressed the picture of Sal’s face, knowing I’d never have this moment again, knowing I’d never get that close to his warm arms. It hurt all over, not from the beating but from the ache in my heart because I knew now - after all those sleepless nights staring at my ceiling - I knew now that I loved Sal. 

****

**\- End 1994 -**

** * * * * **

It was a pain like no other. It compared to nothing that Sal had felt over the years, the last few weeks especially, and nothing he thought he would ever again feel. It was a sick turn in his gut, where he wasn’t sure if he would vomit or not. Hot tears erupted from his eyes with every blink and he had long lost the composure to sit upright, instead had dropped his head to his hands and weeped openly in that little diner.

Q’s confession had torn him like a ragged cloth and disposed of him in a cruel state. Whatever anger had ebbed away at him all these weeks was lost to the torrential storm of bitter, bitter grief he felt now for his best friend. His best friend who had loved him so much, at such a young age, that he’d endured that for him, for them. His best friend in this entire world whom he’d ignored and blackened in a moment of anger. His best friend who sat across from him, hands hovering in a terrified hesitance wanting nothing more than to reach across the table and stop the hurt. 

To say he felt like shit was an understatement. Words failed him in this moment and he wasn’t long from slipping into complete hysterics. All he wanted was to hold Q now, to reach across and grab his hands, to nestle them together and kiss each digit and apologise over and over and over again. But did Q even want an apology? Can Q even forgive him?

A tissue tickled his nose and he looked up through blurry eyes, silently taking it and dabbing the tears away. “God, I’m a mess,” he mumbled, hyper aware of the curious looks from the other end of the diner. Turned out it _was_ a bad idea to come here. He grabbed another tissue and tried to quietly blow his nose.

“You’re a nice mess,” said Q lamely, smiling crookedly across the table. He reached out and grabbed Sal’s hands, snotty tissue and all. 

Sal returned the sentiment, tightening his fingers around Q’s. They still fit perfect, like they were made to be bound. “Q, I’m so sorry. I’m _so, so sorry. _I didn’t know that y-you went through that. What can I-”__

Q’s hands tightened around his fingers. “Sal, it was years ago. I’ve buried it. I’ve finished with it. _I’m_ sorry that I wasn’t big enough to stand up to them and that’s on me.”

“Don’t be stupid,” he sniffled. “They’d have creased you. You did the right thing, Q. I’m just angry for the years we wasted.” He froze quickly, eyeing Q up and asking, “Were they wasted years?”

Q huffed a small laugh and reached a hand up to wipe a stray tear from Sal’s face. His fingers lingered that moment longer near his jaw and his eyes softened. “It’s always been you Sal, _always._ ”

If you asked Sal how happy he was, he couldn’t have given you an answer. It was a swell in his chest and a relief from the worries he’d harboured all these weeks. His chest felt looser than usual, like every breath filled his lungs this time and when he smiled he could feel his lips crack, for they hadn’t stretched that far in days.

They sat in that diner for an hour more, excessively apologising, swapping sentiments and all the while never letting go of each other’s hands. When they eventually did leave, two empty Snapple bottles were the only evidence of their presence. Q held the door for Sal and their elbows brushed on the way up the street.

“I’m parked in Target,” said Q, pausing at a cross road. Crowds bustled around them, shopping bags lashing their back and knees, but they stood rooted, parting the hustle and bustle to look at each other. “Parking was a nightmare,” he added lamely, hand flying to the back of his neck and Sal smirked, knowing the tell-tale sign – Q was nervous. 

“I stole a spot from some old lady,” he smiled, knowing Q would get a laugh from it. “She cut me off half way up the street so I got my own back.”

“Look, I’ll be blunt,” Q said quickly, digging his hands into his pockets. “Wanna go to the cinema tomorrow with me? Like, y’know, a night out like.” He stuffed his hands deep into his coat pockets and looked up the street with a deep huff. “Y’know… a da-”

“ A date?” said Sal, nodding as he spoke.

“Yeah, a date,” smiled Q.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> **Thanks for reading guys.**  
> 


	10. Krampus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **It's 10:29pm. I didn't last long in bed. Now I'm camping on the couch. Hands up who here finds sleep difficult?**

Sal was a bag of nerves when Joe and Murr finally left, two hours after they’d _long_ extended their welcome. He’d not told them about his date tonight with Q; he thought it was prude to potentially kiss and tell too soon. He’d given Joe a brief low down via text and intended to tell Murray if things went well tonight. Then there was his moment of hysteria when he had almost convinced himself that this was a prank and that he’d arrive at the cinema to find the entire crew in hysterics. _Don’t be an idiot. Don’t ruin this for yourself._

He’d been in such good humour leaving the diner and well into the next day had smiled stupidly. The Christmas season had suddenly become much brighter in his eyes and he’d pulled the box of decorations out of the cupboard, gradually adding bits and pieces here and there. There was a stretch of twine above his fire place with the many cards he’d neglected to open over the days, now proudly displayed and each one hanging from a little Santa shaped peg. He’d changed the table cloth to soft red linen with a white runner and placed a tall glass jar candle in the centre. Soft brown and wine cushions littered his couch and he’d cleared a spot where the Christmas tree stood tall but bare; he’d get around to it later. 

Finally getting out of the shower, where he’d over thought this date dozens of times, he set about to taming his beard, carefully trimming each section and perfecting lines and edges. Moisturizer was applied generously – fearing his dry skin would shed off all over his shoulders and he’d die of mortification – and he made special effort to hang his head upside down to blow dry his roots. When he felt he successfully had hair that defied gravity, Sal set about gelling and combing each section to perfection. He didn’t think for a second that Q was staring in the mirror, knowing well his friend didn’t hold much time for vanity; but Sal didn’t care because he thought Q was fuckin’ handsomely rugged.

_What do I wear? What does he like? What won’t I sweat in?_ He sifted through multiple outfits, tempted to fling each article of clothing out the window with irritation when he couldn’t settle on anything. He wasn’t sure what Q would wear because he only ever had two looks – million dollars or homeless – and there really was no in between. He groaned theatrically and finally settled for a pair of snug wine chinos and a simple black sweater. _Not bad, Vulcano._ A spritz of cologne never killed anyone either; except for when he was 14 and had his first date, but that was history. Doing a quick once over in the mirror, he smirked and grabbed his jacket, practically skipping down the steps.

** * * * *  **

Q couldn’t help walking the same block twice, just to shake his nerves, and finally he paced into the Atrium Stadium Cinema 15 minutes early. _So much for killing time._ He felt nervous all over again now that he had to fidget awkwardly in the waiting area, leaning from foot to foot and not sure what to do with his hands. He settled for toying with the tickets in his pocket and leaned casually against a coke machine, whistling out of tune.

He’d prepared well for this moment, or so he liked to think; he hadn’t slept much that night, not exactly comforted by the impending date because there was so much riding on this. He wanted it to be perfectly wonderful but casual and he wanted to make Sal feel comfortable. He also wanted to maybe kind of jump his bones but there were plenty of other dates to be had. That was something else that Q wanted to secure tonight and that was a second date. Something a little more heated than the cinema, like dinner and wine in either of their homes afterwards.

“Popcorn?”

His whistling seized and he whirled around the machine to face Sal, who stood with a blue bucket outstretched and a broad grin to accompany it. He accepted it with a thank you and presented the tickets, with a rather smug smile. “Krampus,” he announced gleefully, waving the tickets in Sal’s face. He knew Sal hated scary films, but it was festive – and he couldn’t argue it wasn’t – and also it might bring them closer during those moments of terror. Yes, he’d thought this plan carefully through. 

“Isn’t that…isn’t that a scary film?” asked Sal, trailing after him with his own bucket of popcorn and two drinks. They balanced awkwardly but he managed. 

“Nah, it says _Krampus_ , like Father _Christmas_ ,” said Q, handing over the tickets to be stamped and leading the way into the darkened cinema. “And besides, there’s a Christmas tree on the teaser poster outside. Wanna sit here?” He led them into a back seat, slightly to the left and away from where the younger people usually sat above the door, where they liked to drop pieces of popcorn onto unsuspecting people’s heads.

Their knees brushed as they settled and Q’s fingers twitched to reach out and touch Sal’s, just briefly, just enough to say I’m here in more than a friendly way. He decided against, not wanting to start things too quick and settled for tossing pieces of popcorn in the air to catch them.

“You’re a mess,” laughed Sal, nodding at Q’s hoody which had collected an ample amount of food. He reached out to flick pieces away, letting his knuckle drag cautiously near Q’s neck. 

It was a light touch that sent goosebumps around his neck and leaned into the touch with a small chuckle, his ear brushing against Sal’s hand. Sal ran his finger along Q’s jaw, their eyes watching each other hesitantly, each set willing the other to make a move, any move. Q cursed the cinema and every person that filed through the door for intruding on this moment. 

They were cut sharply back to reality when the screen flickered and the movie began. Sal instantly shrunk into his seat, knowing the next hour or so was going to be torture and that he’d spend most of it examining the box of popcorn. The music was terrifying; a vibrato of the infamous ‘You better watch out, you better not shout’ children’s Christmas song that pumped through the speakers and set him on edge. The thoughts of decorating his Christmas tree were thrown out the window when some shadow leapt from behind one on the screen and he in turn dropped a handful of popcorn with fright.

Q’s hand snaked out in the dark and Sal jumped again, only relaxing when he felt Q’s fingers tighten around his knuckles. It was a pivotal moment neither would forget, where their surroundings seemed to escape them both and their eyes locked in the dark. In the movies, this is where their lips would connect for the first time – no, _again_ , just many years later - and the cameras would spin and the music would play and they’d fall in love. But this wasn’t a film; they were in a crowded cinema, watching a horror film and Sal’s popcorn had slipped from his lap into a heap on the floor. But he didn’t care because all he could feel was Q’s warm palm against his knuckles and his rough thumb gently brushing soothing strokes. 

“It’s okay,” whispered Q, squeezing gently. He settled his bucket of popcorn between them both to share and through the darkness, Sal could see his pearly smile and it made him want to melt.

With a satisfied sigh, he leaned into his chair and settled for staring at their linked fingers for the next hour or more, not caring anymore about the shadows or monsters. 

*** * * ***

The first snow had littered the ground as they exited the cinema, chatting merrily about what had happened on screen. Q did most of the talking because Sal had spent most of the film just staring at their hands, smiling stupidly and pondering on where this left them. They hadn’t talked much during the movie, just the occasional _‘Did you see that?’_ or _‘I’d shit myself if that happened.’_ \- the latter being Sal’s most frequent comment because he really was a self-proclaimed windy bastard.

“Snow,” said Q, kicking a flurry in front of them and together they watched it fall back to the ground. 

Sal loved snow. The small flakes that fell from the sky collected in pools on Q’s shoulders and gathered in his hair. It was crisp and white and fell quickly from above; couples hurried by, hands linked and heads bent low and Sal could tell they radiated happiness. Snow had that effect on people. 

He watched the flakes collect on Q’s jacket and then feeling brave, he reached out to brush them away. The tips of their shoes touched, they were that close, and their foggy breaths mingled in the night air. Sal could make out the flecks of rich cognac around Q’s iris and he could count each individual eye lash, long and dark.

“I’m not ready to go home yet,” he admitted, holding their gaze and hoping that Q felt the same. 

“Me neither,” said Q and his hands reached out to twist around Sal’s scarf, coiling the ends into a neat fold. “I walked here so I got all night.”

“Walk with me?” he suggested, raising a perfectly groomed brow and nodding down the street. “Anywhere.”

They stepped in unison and Sal’s heart fluttered with every beat. He could feel warmth growing in his chest, melting the arctic pain he had felt all these weeks. Every nerve lit up like a Christmas tree with excitement and his digits tingled. Darkness had fallen and every street was lit with colour and smelled of spices. They walked aimlessly, stopping to admire window displays with giant trees, candy cane light posts, over crowded coffee shops and occasionally, a guy in a Santa suit. As beautiful as the snow was, as crisp as it crunched beneath their feet, it was sharp and biting and all too soon their legs numbed and their fingers tingled; they sought each-others warmth, first knuckles brushing, fingers linking and then palms connecting. 

It was in unison that they smiled, in unison that their front teeth clasped across their bottom lip and in unison that they squeezed each other’s hand. Sal didn’t care how far they walked that night and he was pretty sure they retraced their steps at least twice, but right now he only cared for the man beside him. It ended all too soon for his liking, time escaping both of them and they finally arrived at the crossroads which led to their individual homes. Sal was so tempted to invite Q around, his lips opening each time but his voice failing to produce sound. 

“I’m recordin’ an episode of TESD tomorrow,” said Q, his thumb circling Sal’s. “Then I gotta take my cats for their winter vaccines. But I’m free all of Saturday if you wanna get a coffee?”

Sal was nodding before Q had finished the question, knowing that whatever the suggestion was that he’d go along with it. He’d do anything to feel the happiness he’d felt tonight all over again. “Coffee sounds great. I know a little place; it’s not as public as the diner so my break downs will be a more low key this time.” 

Q chuckled and ran a hand through his hair, slicking it back with melted snow. “I come prepared now,” he grinned, breaking their contact to reach into his pocket and pull out a packet of tissues, waving them between forefinger and thumb. “I got your back.”

There was an easy silence, where Q fidgeted with his pocket and Sal straightened his jacket. Ending dates were easy with women, he decided, because he didn’t know them personally but ending dates with Q was different. He _knew_ Q and also felt more for Q than he had any women, which is why he was grateful for Q’s next words. 

“I like you Sal, _a lot_ and I’m afraid to kiss you ‘cause I don’t want you to think I’m rushin’ things.” His hand flew straight to the back of his neck in typical Q fashion. “So I’m just tellin’ you that I’ll behave for this date, but I can’t guarantee the next.” His lips curled into an awkward smile and Sal nearly dropped to the floor with feelings.

“I make a mean casserole that would taste great after a coffee,” said Sal, nearly swallowing his tongue in an attempt not to display the adrenaline coursing through his body right now. 

“You know you can’t cook,” said Q lightly, nudging Sal’s shoulder with his fist. “But I do make a good Irish stew that my mother taught me if it interests you.” 

Q was right about two things in that moment. The first being that Sal could not cook and the second being that Sal really wanted to try that stew, especially if it meant calling to his home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thanks for reading guys. This story is coming to a quick end. There's about two chapters left I think.**


	11. Tell Me Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **Sorry for the delay in uploading this chapter. I've had a _lot_ going on medically. [ holds up a sheet of paper ] slipped disk, sinus infection, common cold and just today a chemical burn to my neck and possible heart murmur. Like, seriously?**
> 
>  
> 
> **Anyway, this is the second last chapter. The finale comes this weekend. I've had the last chapter written for a while and I've debated on whether I should take the angle I've decided on, but I'm a risk taker so why fuckin' not.**
> 
>  
> 
> **For anyone whose interested, there will be a sequel to this story .**  
> 

”You gotta shave,” clucked Murr, circling Sal with a critical eye before settling back into his chair next to Joe. 

Sal ran a hand along his cheek and frowned. “I trimmed it this morning,” he said, looking between both of his friends. They were in Joe’s house – Friday night pizza as arranged – minus Q who had podcast commitments. It hadn’t been a shock to Murr when Sal eventually stuttered the news to him; in fact Sal was almost convinced that Murr knew before they all did and he was tempted to be annoyed, but decided to file the accusation for a later date if needed. 

Ferret shook his head and swallowed another mouthful of pizza. He took a sip of beer and smacked his lips loudly, annoyingly. “I don’t mean _there_ ,” he snickered, motioning his eyes bellow the lining of the table with a twisted smirk. 

Joe laughed loudly, jumping from his seat to rummage around in a drawer and produced a pair of scissors. “Just put a towel down, Sally. I don’t wanna be hooverin’ pubes for hours,” he cackled. 

Sal pushed the scissors away and scowled into his bottle of beer. “You guys are disgusting.” He took a quick sup and smiled into his bottle because little did they know that he’d already prepared for his date tomorrow night. Q’s hints at naughty behaviour had kept him awake last night; he’d tossed and turned for hours with a persistent hard on that only settled down when he’d taken a long, cold shower. He’d woken with a similar situation but refused to take care of it, wanting solely to wait for Q. 

“All jokes aside though,” said Murr with a smile. He leaned across the table to put a hand on Sal’s. “I’m happy for you buddy. I’m happy for you both.”

“Thanks, man. I feel happy now, much better than the last few days.” He beamed at them both, feeling that his little world couldn’t get any better. He had good company, good health, a good date ahead of him and he just felt _good about things._

*** * * ***

“Ready to head back?” Q asked over the rim of his empty cup. They’d been in the coffee shop for well over an hour, their little wooden table surrounded by bags of shopping. To anyone they looked like best friends – which they were – but hidden beneath the table their knees cautiously brushed together, experimentally lingering longer each time. Sal was fighting his inner tween every time he felt Q’s knees press against his own, but from the satisfied smirk on the other man’s face, he knew the tween was escaping.

“Your lip’ll fall off if you bite it anymore,” said Q slyly, eyes narrowing like the knowing bastard that he was. He looked casually around the busy shop and then leaned across the table to smile at Sal. “I need those, y’know.”

Sal couldn’t help the giddy flush that spread across his cheeks and he disgracefully slugged the last of his tea, brushed imaginary crumbs from his jacket and stood to leave. He was eager to get to Q’s, not for the promised stew, but because he was afraid he’d chicken out and go home. It wasn’t that he was afraid – in fact he was terrified – it was more that he wasn’t sure he was going to be all that Q wanted. 

He believed that Q liked him, the joker wouldn’t have come this far otherwise, but he wondered to himself if Q knew what he was getting into. And there it was; the part of himself that he fuckin’ hated. The part that always tried – no, not tried, fuckin’ _succeeded_ – to sabotage every good thing that happened in his life. It was some inner fuckin’ turmoil that erupted when he least expected it and blew him off the tracks every time. 

“You’re quiet,” said Q as they snailed through traffic, inching out of the city at a painfully slow rate. His eyes locked forward on the bumper ahead of his jeep, but Sal knew he was lingering in the peripherals. “Somethin’ the matter?”

“I’m just cold,” was the lame reply and he rolled his eyes at himself. Q scoffed beside him and he couldn’t help join in with the incredulous sound. “Lame excuse, right?”

“Your worst yet. But really, wassa matter?” Q beeped at a taxi that cut him off, muttering beneath his breath about asshole taxi’s thinking they owned the streets. 

Sal sighed gruffly and leaned on his palm, propped against the window. He was tempted to say nothing, but his little display had Q’s eyes locked on him now and they were questioning, confused. “It’s me,” Sal admitted with a humorous smile. “As always.”

“Oh fuck man, don’t gimmie the _’it’s me not you’_ speech. Isn’t that degrading at my age?” chuckled Q lightly, but Sal could hear the undertones of worry in the man’s voice. 

He straightened up and turned slightly in his seat to face Q, setting a determined look on his features. “Joe warned me not to fuck this up, so I’ma be honest with you about my feelin’s this time, see where it gets me.” He cleared his throat and settled into a rant. “I’m a ball of anxiety that I’m not all you expect me to be. Like, I caused all this dumb drama in the first place because I fuckin’ like you and now that I gotcha where I want you I’m questioning whether I’ll be enough for you. Like, what if I suck at kissing and your disappointed and then fuckin’ traumatised because I’ve ruined your expectations-” Sal stopped mid rant, mouth open and frown set firmly. “Stop laughing at me,” he muttered. “This is a serious situation.”

Q swung into the next lane and they snailed another few meters while he laughed. “Sal, are you fuckin’ _insane?_ ”. He chortled while shaking his head, grateful for the comedic relief because this dead beat traffic almost had him driven to a fit. “Let’s get one thing straight - You didn’t cause _’dumb drama_ ’. You caused drama sure, but I’ve never been happier with your antics because it woke me the fuck up and I’m fallin’ for you more and more every second I see you.” He turned to look at Sal this time; eyes a flood of genuine sentiment that made Sal almost tear up. “Whatever you’re not seein’ in yourself Sal, I see it all, a thousand times over. I see a beautiful man who’s full of love and laughter and cares deeply for everyone around him. I see a man who carried me through the tough times and I see a man who I hope will let me carry him from now on.”

Sal fought the tears away. The sentiments cut deep; right down to a place he needed them most. They fizzled away the negative thoughts and replaced them with warmth; the kind that nestled close to your heart and made you tingle. It was unexpected what he did next, he only realised he had leaned forward when Q’s nose brushed against his own and there was a split second, just one split moment where they looked at each other, then Sal’s eyes slid shut and their lips touched.

For months he had tried to recall Q’s lips, and in this moment it came flooding back. The cool touch against the bitter night, the soft skin and the scent of mint, always mint. He could taste caramel too, hidden behind peppermint and something that was solely Brian Quinn, something undistinguishable, something that he couldn’t remember. Their lips seemed to connect the way their palms did, like it was meant to be, and though they didn’t stir an inch, something inside both men changed, never to be reversed.

Breaking the connection pained Sal and he wanted to reach out now and grab his friend’s face – wait, were they more than friends now? – and pull him back in, just to taste once more. He fell in love right there in the car, he knew he did, and he didn’t care to think if Q did or not because he didn’t think he’d ever care about anything ever again, except for the love that burst in his heart. Sitting in a cold jeep, in the middle of a mind numbing traffic jam, was the last place Sal every thought he’d kiss Q again for the first time in all these years, but it was fuckin’ good enough. 

The drive to Q’s house was laced with silent admiration, repressed need and years of unsaid tangible lust. Sal’s hand had found a spot on Q’s thigh, rubbing gently while the man’s legs worked the break and clutch. He admired the feel of muscles tensing with each movement and he squeezed softly each time, until Q eventually gave up on repressing the soft sighs and allowed them escape. 

The traffic had eased and they found the roads smooth sailing, enough for Q to rest his palm over Sal’s hand, once bringing it close to his lips to plant a tiny kiss over one knuckle. He couldn’t adjust the uncomfortable position his cock had found its way into and no amount of fidgeting would ease the pressure. Sal’s fingers brushed far too near him every time and he was growing more irritated with the never ending tarmac they had to cross.

“I don’t know how I’m gonna react when I get you into my house,” he admitted gruffly, eyes locked ahead on the road. He didn’t dare steal a glance at Sal’s face, knowing the man’s fingers were dancing suggestive patterns on purpose. “You gotta tell me _now_ if you wanna behave tonight.”

Sal’s cock stirred with the command. He was a submissive bitch at heart, but Q didn’t know that. _He’ll know soon enough._ It excited him to think of what those hands could do and he stole a glance at the broad knuckles spread across the steering wheel. He bit his bottom lip and drew forth a small gasp when he thought of the things that Q could do, the things he’s heard that Q could do and the things he _wanted_ Q to do to him.

The man in question’s gruff voice shook him from his lusty thoughts. “Sal,” was the command, so he turned to face him and again his front teeth dragged across his bottom lip. “I’m not gonna behave, Q,” he admitted, too lost in his own filthy imagination to be bashful about anything.

*** * * ***

It was the resounding bang of the bedroom door closing that made Sal stop. It was a sudden eruption of thoughts at the realisation he was actually going to do this. He couldn’t even _remember_ how to do _this._ Sure, he watched porn and that was a good enough visual to go off, but he hadn’t touched another man in _that_ way in a very long time. Hell, he hadn’t touched _himself_ like that for years. 

A shaky breath rattled from his throat and he leaned against the door, taking Q’s bedroom in. It was plain, simple but cluttered, with a Batman poster hung on the en-suite door. It made him smile, that tiny poster, because it was so Q and also because it looked so familiar. Q confirmed his suspicion by crossing the room to smoothen invisible creases across the picture. “1998 – your comic con gift to me,” he said with a faint smile. “Told ya I’d always keep it.” Q leaned heavily against the bathroom door and began to scratch at his jaw, casting glances across the room. “I won’t lie to you. I aint done this in a while.” He bit his lip. “In a long while, actually.”

“Me either,” Sal sighed with relief, cocking his head to one side and smiling back at the man across the room. It was like losing his virginity all over again, laced with awkwardness and hesitation, but this time they were staring in comfortable silence. It would make a good story one day, he decided, while he tried to be as comfortably awkward as was possible – the guys would find this moment brilliant. Just when he felt he should be making a move, Q took initiative and crossed the room.

Sal felt his breath linger, felt large hands touch his cheeks and a rough thumb brushing his bottom lip. His eyes slid shut against the feeling, drawing every sensation he could seek out deep into his nerves. There was a rich coffee bean, a fresh peppermint and strawberries. He inhaled deeply and then opened his eyes to smile. “I’ve missed this, all these years,” he said, enveloping Q’s hands with his own.

“I was an idiot,” whispered Q, tugging at Sal’s bottom lip with his thumb. “I’ll never again be an idiot.”

He drew Sal into a deep kiss, laced with longing and passion. Their lips brushed smoothly, tongues tracing pink skin and mouths opening to clash in the centre. Q’s tongue was warm and slick, sliding silkily along his own and teasingly darting out again. A small moan emitted from deep within Q’s throat and Sal echoed the sound, his fingers linking the dark belt he knew Q wore. Teeth nibbled his bottom lip, tugging gently and another moan shot straight to his groin, stirring his cock to attention. 

Q’s fingers fumbled with Sal’s shirt, clumsily slipping each time until he grumbled and tugged a few free. Sal almost protested but was silenced with another kiss, surrendering to the larger hands that slid the shirt from his body. His own hands were worked through Q’s hair, ruffling it into a state and tugging every now and again just to hear the sweet moan from the man’s lips. “Your jumper,” he muttered through short kisses and heavy breaths, his hands beating Q to the hems and pulling him free from the confines off too much fabric. 

Q hooked his fingers through the belt loops on Sal’s pants and tugged him towards the bed, his knees crashing into the mattress and together they fell back, landing side by side. He propped himself up on one elbow to lean over Sal and trailed his fingers through the thin wisps of hair on the man’s chest, down his stomach and then skilfully worked on his belt buckle. 

“Off with them,” he demanded, pushing his own down along with his boxers and falling back onto bed. “Jocks too,” he added when Sal hesitated. “Aint nothin’ I’ve never seen before,” he said gently, leaning over Sal again to kiss his pink lips. When they lay naked, eyeing each other’s bodies with lustful breaths, Q couldn’t wait a second longer before his fingers coiled around Sal’s length and slowly moved up and down. He’d forgotten what this felt like, forgotten the feel of someone else’s cock in his hand, forgotten the feel of silky skin passing over his palm.

Sal dropped his head into the mattress, closing his eyes against Q’s soft touch. It was a distant memory, the feel of calloused fingers wrapped around him, but it felt familiar and oh so good. He sighed with content while Q worked his length, knowing fingers squeezing in all the right places to send a small jolt of pleasure around his groin. 

“There’s lube on the table next to you,” said Q, releasing his cock and idly stroking his own. Sal reached over to find the bottle and squirted a heft amount into his own hand and Q’s too, rolling onto his side so they faced each other. He massaged the lube through his right hand and then wrapped his palm around Q’s cock, enjoying the small gasp the man emitted.

They stroked each other in rhythm, arms crossing in the middle and mouth agape with ragged breaths as they both neared climax. Sal chewed his bottom lip, sludgy eyes creased in pleasure as Q quickened his pace. “Oh yeah,” he sighed, his head dropping to one side and his chest rising quickly. “I’m gonna cum if you keep goin’,” he groaned, his own movements becoming slopping.

Q pulled away and pushed him onto his back, quickly climbing between his spread legs and staring down at him. He pulled a condom from beneath his mattress and rolled it on. “Tell me when it hurts,” he whispered, drawing a finger under Sal’s balls and grinning when the man arched his back. He drenched his hand in lube, hoping he remembered how to do this and positioned his finger near Sal’s entrance. “Tell me, okay?”

“Woud’ja just _do it_ ,” growled Sal, slapping the sheets in frustration. 

Q found confidence in Sal’s groans, only faltering once when Sal gasped against his touch. But slipping his fingers into Sal was easier than he’d expected and after a few moments of allowing him to adjust around the intrusion, he carefully moved his fingers in and out. While Sal lay still beneath him, his top teeth worked his bottom lip, chewing beautifully and only pausing to emit the smallest of moans, kiss bruised lips forming a perfect circle. Q couldn’t help his hand away from his own cock, jerking himself off between Sal’s legs, watching the beautiful face contort with each movement he made.

“Q, please,” moaned Sal, propping his head up to stare at him. “I’m ready.”

It wasn’t nearly as awkward as he’d thought it was going to be; his body adjusted quickly to the foreign intrusion. After a minor discomfort, he took pleasure in the feeling of being full and most importantly being full of Q. And the thoughts of his cock joining them together and the glisten of sweat over the man’s forehead and the disgustingly gorgeous groans he echoed with every trust. His own cock bounced with every movement, his legs spread over Q’s shoulders, and his hand found his cock. It was slick with lube, dripping across his balls and disappearing when Q thrust each time. He tightened his grasp and jerked himself off, watching Q’s face contort with pleasure, swallowing every moan he emitted and releasing his own groans in unison.

“Fuckit, Sal,” Q gasped, thrusting sloppily. “I don’t know how long I can hold out.”

“Cum,” Sal ordered, flicking his wrist erratically across his cock, squeezing himself around Q’s cock until the man made another of those delicious sounds that made him arch and linger on the brink of losing himself. 

He jerked into Sal once more, throwing his head back and whimpering a beautiful gasp of relief, followed by Sal’s own string of profanity when he shot a ribbon of sperm across his stomach and chest, throwing his head back and shakily groaning at the ceiling. Q lowered his legs gently, massaging his knees softly and pulled out slowly, kissing each of Sal’s thighs as he crawled over the man’s body to fall beside him. They breathed at the ceiling for a moment, each gathering the sensations they had felt and storing them away for future retrieval. Sal was the first to speak, dropping his head to the left to look at Q, who smiled lazily back at him. “That was nice,” he said bashfully, fighting away the blush he knew would surface now that the moment of passion had passed.

“That was beautiful,” said Q, his fingers finding Sal’s hand and linking them together. “You’re beautiful.”

The blush surfaced on Sal’s cheeks and he looked away, teeth working his lip again. He couldn’t have been happier in this moment, he couldn’t have found anything better if he dug deep into his soul, because this was what he’s wanted all his fuckin’ life. It was here next to him, breathing deeply and having just fucked him. If he had any sort of grasp on his emotions or his mind, he wouldn’t have tried to torment his soul by now asking stupid questions. _So it this it? Do I grab my clothes and get out of here?_

“I can hear you thinking, Sal,” said Q, turning over to face him. He had discarded the condom and Sal hated to think where it had been flung. “And I know what you’re thinkin’ and I think you’re bein’ silly.”

“Oh yeah, tell me what I’m thinkin’,” he said, hoping Q knew exactly what, so as to save him the torment of having to figure it out alone.

“You’re trying to convince yourself this is a one night stand and I’m finished witcha now and want you to go home,” drawled Q, holding a finger up, then holding up two. A bored expression crossed his face. “Also, you’re wonderin’ what the fuck do we do now. M’I right?”

Sal nodded, becoming more and more aware that he was lying naked in Q’s bed with no covers and that there was a pool of sticky semen on his stomach that was beginning to smell strongly of sex. Surely there were other ways of getting off, he thought for a second, but Q’s next comment shut his mind up.

“Be my boyfriend.” Q leaned further over him and stared down. Sal thought he had a piercing look when he wanted, able to draw every thought out of his mind without trying. “It’s not a question,” he said, bringing his hand up to hold Sal’s face. “I’m almost 40 and I wasted too many years without you to be asking stupid questions.

Sal could have cried there and then on the bed, but was already feeling too vulnerable to let himself go like that. There was no coming back from crying naked in your best friend’s – no, _boyfriend’s_ \- bed, balls naked and with a puddle of cum on your stomach. Instead, he contained the inner tween and pushed himself onto one elbow to meet Q’s face. “Only if you’ll be my boyfriend,” he toyed. 

Q caught Sal’s chin between fore finger and thumb. He took a moment to just look, admiring the man’s sparkling eyes, perfectly tamed beard, and his heart felt giddy with emotions he couldn’t describe. He didn’t want to say he loved Sal, maybe he fuckin’ did, but he didn’t want to admit it and scare the man away. Instead he sealed his thoughts with a kiss, hoping Sal could feel the emotions that played within him.

“I’ll be your everything,” he promised that night, after they’d showered and abandoned the burned stew for a few slices of toast and a bag of chips, finally slipping beneath Q’s sheets to sleep. It had been years since they’d slept so close together, so passionately together, but both men couldn’t ignore how their contours seemed to fit perfectly. 

Outside the darkened room that smelled of Q’s trade mark minty scent, a light snow had begun to dust the streets and a winter chill drew their bodies closer together. Sal ignored the sounds of meowing cats outside the door, relenting to the idea that just maybe he’d have to consider accepting them as part of Q’s life, which now made them part of his. On the bedside tables, where their phones lay abandoned, four messages waited to be read – two each, from two of their best friends – and all reading words of delight, support and playful jests. 


	12. Christmas Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> **So this is it, the last chapter. I just wanna thank every single one of you assholes for commenting, subscribing, liking, reading, making me smile, caring and for just being fuckin' awesome. If any of you are interested, there will be a sequel to this story. I haven't picked any one direction yet because there's active stories on A03 in the IJ fan base which are similar and I don't wanna take the light off them. So I'll pick a direction this week and get around to writing it.**  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> **Again, as always, thanks and doughnuts to the left.**  
> 

Christmas Eve. The moon struggled to break through the heavy white snow clouds. The street was empty, silent like the night it was, and not a creature stirred, not even a mouse. The clock above his fireplace read 9pm and he’d been nestled on the rug since many ticks before that, making sure that everything was perfect. He’d put fresh logs in the grate, a small ember catching beneath them and slowly enveloping into a crackling fire. His sister had bought him a Christmas candle – Snowflake Cookie – and it sent a sweet scent throughout the house, that when he inhaled, brought him calm. The green tree twinkled with soft white lights and silver unwrapped gifts glistened beneath the fresh pine. 

“Creamy latte with cinnamon, just how you like it,” said Q, sitting on the floor beside him to lean against the couch and handed him a steaming cup. 

Sal accepted the mug and inhaled the steam, letting the smells tickle his nose and he stretched his legs out to match Q’s. “Sugar?” he hopefully asked.

Q shook his head through a sip of hot chocolate. “You’re sweet enough,” he teased and Sal couldn’t help laugh at the blob of cream that hung from his nose, reaching out to swipe it away and playfully taste.

They shared a warm kiss, their lips swapping flavours for each other to identify. Sal’s were warm with spice and Q’s were rich with chocolate. They parted and leaned shoulder to shoulder, their socked feet brushing together and both delved into comfortable silence, watching the flames dance in the heart and listening to the sputter of snowflakes hit the window.

The last few days had been the happiest of both their lives, each of them falling into a comfortable routine of being together and being _more_ than best friends. It was accepted with warms hugs and teasing, but neither of them cared because it was a weight off both their shoulders. They’d shopped together and apart, they’d gone for coffee’s and had a meal, they’d experimented with parts of their bodies that they’d long forgotten existed and fallen into each other’s arms with blissful sighs afterwards.

They hadn’t exchanged ‘I love you’ yet, but it was early days and deep down they really did. For some people it would just take longer to acknowledge than others and that was life, right? Sal accepted that thought with a smile, knowing their moment would come and that when it did he’d remember every single second of it. “Wanna head to bed?” he piped up, leaning his head against Q’s shoulder and staring up at him through bright eyes. 

Q drained his cup and nodded, stretching against the couch and then leaning down to kiss Sal’s forehead. “Let’s go princess,” he joked, pulling Sal off the ground with a grunt and blowing out the candle. They switched off every light, double checked the windows and doors, then padded up the stairs together.

“D’you hear that?” asked Sal, turning at the top of the stairs to peer down at the dark front door. Q shrugged and nudged him onto the landing, muttering lame jokes about Santa Clause being too fat to get down the chimney. “Thought I heard the porch creek,” Sal muttered, shaking his head and disposing of the thought. It was probably just the neighborhood strays peeing in his hedging again. _Fuckin’ cats._

They peeled the blankets back and crawled under the cold covers, teeth chattering and limbs grappling together for heat. Their foreheads pressed together, their hands stroking the rare spots of exposed skin: cheeks, chin, ears and they kissed again. Wishing each other a good night, they set to sleep, curling around each other and their thoughts fixed on tomorrow’s festivities. The turkey Q’s mother had cooked for them, the ham Sal’s dad had baked, the roast potatoes Q knew his dad would cook to a delicious crisp, the Christmas crackers and pudding, the songs and the mulled wine. 

What they didn’t think of was the sound on the porch, the creek of the aged wood and the foot prints in the snow that would be gone in the morning, covered by a thick dusting of snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> **Mysterious foot prints in the snow you say? We'll explore that in the sequel. Thanks guy. Have a good day!**  
> 


End file.
